that was the moment he realised ; (irl) schlatt x reader

– part one , – part two , – part three , – part four , – part five , – part six

summary : a weekend getaway vacation, just what the pair needed to get away from busy city lives. in just enjoying the moment, what once was a silly, dismissive thought to the male, now hits him straight in the face. and for once, he's okay with it.

info : fluff, mild swearing, she/her pronouns as well as reader being described as a woman (pretty girl), sappy, like really sappy but i adore it.

a/n : i actually adore fluffy schlatt, i always got the impression that he hides the fact he's the biggest softie out there to pretend to be more macho than he really is. considering i am sadly very much single, having some fluff like this is a comfort to me. so this is kinda just a comfort post where i have them gush about being in love. <3

The lack of any rustling but that of the leaves of the trees was a different, and almost bizarre thing to wake up to. Almost expecting to suddenly hear the burst of a car horn reminding him of his apartment being right on a busy street; and yet this peace remained. Pure rays of light slipped through the blinds, filling the bedroom with a gentle golden glow. Under his arm, Y/n slept cuddling into his side for warmth; the rented out cottage wasn't exactly the best insulated. With the utmost care, he slinked his arm away from her, mindful to not jostle her awake. Her form wrapped up in a French linen comforter, disheveled sure, but to the New Yorker she was too damn gorgeous for her own good. His eyes lingered before retreating from the room, short steps leading down into the open concept living room and kitchen.

Today was Sunday: the end of the weekend and their last day before they had to go back. It was oddly serene, seeing the living spaces highlighted by morning shine. Just checking the fridge, it was already pre-stocked with bougie shit that he didn't recognise. Even the milk was some kind of unpronounceable brand, acting as if it was above all the other milk brands. The memory of Y/n sometimes buying these kinds of things didn't pass him, a smile grew to his lips as they'd debate if fifteen dollars for specialty cereal was really worth it. That was when she has initially moved in, now he didn't bat an eye when things around their home moved around or suddenly gained new items that he was unsure about.

She slowly changed what was once a stinky bachelor pad into a presentable home, warm and cozy, especially when she made it a point to hang up pictures of the pair and establish a colour scheme for interior designing. Just thinking about it made him homesick, he even started letting her come to the office and change things around just so he could have reminders of her in his space. Although the two started their relationship in private, only really friends and family knowing and teasingly keeping it out of public eye for the sake of privacy. It was ultimately in vain since despite it being Schlatt's wish, he ended up spilling it to his viewers after having her show up in countless streams and endless twitter interactions. (All painfully flirty.)

Considering Y/n was also a public figure, some part jealously irked him when fans would inevitably ship her with other people. Getting it out in the public at least made that mostly die out, his liberal use of nicknames like 'my girl', 'sweetheart', 'doll', and 'pretty girl' even in front of the camera cemented the pair's bond. Considering the two's interactions were thousands of times cuter than her platonic interactions with friends, her fans ate that shit up.

"Good morning." Speaking of which, she groggily came down the stairs with a tired yawn. His shirt dressing her body, and despite what anyone else might've thought; all he saw was a goddess that descended from those steps. “Did I wake you? I was going to get started on breakfast.” Which wouldn’t be anything fancy since Schlatt wasn’t exactly the best cook. “It got so cold without you. I figured if I couldn’t sleep anymore might as well follow the heater downstairs.” She huffed out, fully descending the stairs to approach her boyfriend. Sitting atop one of two barstools of the kitchen’s island. He snuck glances in between of gathering things from out of the fridge. Her features highlighted by early light, easily one of the most angelic things he’s ever seen. Her eyes heavy as she was still in the rices of fully waking up, yet still remaining with a lazy smile as she watched from a short distance. “Take a picture.” She mused, rubbing her eyes slightly whilst teasing the male with one of her devilish smiles. “It’ll last longer.” “Oh shut up.” He dismissed despite holding one of his own.

The scene was serene, Y/n's gaze glued to her boyfriend of close to two years. While he always noticed her far off looks, he never realized it was because she was completely enamoured by him. Always watching over his figure, habitually dressed in basketball shorts and sweatshirts. (Of which she stole constantly, never bothering the brunette considering he adored seeing her wrapped up in his clothing.) Eyes always fixated on his face, whenever the pair were alone she got the privilege of seeing him in his softer side. Grins teasing at times, but commonly genuine and so loving. His intensely dark brown irises so filled with love whenever they met hers, always feeling like when she first fell for him; the butterflies never left. Where could she even begin with his curled caramel brown locks? Her fingers twitched, yearning for the pair to snuggle up and put on a movie; giving her the perfect opportunity to run her hands along his scalp.

In the grand scheme of things, they hadn't been together very long, neither having knowing each other long before completely falling into this state of love. What started as limerence grew to real, seldom true love. In such a simple scene, where the New Yorker had prepared (mostly uncooked) scrambled eggs and (slightly burnt) buttered toast, retiring to a seat beside his lover where the two chatted about whatever came to mind. The pair always having gazes filled with such enamour, adoration like their partner had hung the stars and moon.

"You know, I kind of wish we could stay." Y/n had spoken offhandedly, spooning the yellow mass onto one of her slices of toast. She followed up her comment soon after taking a bite, "I love this cottage... But, I wouldn't mind spending forever anywhere as long as I'm with you." Forever. The word poignant and sticking within his mind, spending forever with her, it was a thought he always briefly had. His insecurities drowned it out, fear of falling out of this kind of honeymoon, fear of her no longer looking at him like he looked at her. He feared that later down the line she wouldn't see him the same, he was scared to commit to her.

And yet, with her affirmation of always wanting to be with him, even if she spoke it in passing with it seemingly escaping her lips and being forgotten soon afterwards, it filled him with some kind of comfort unlike perviously when it'd fill with with anxiety and dread. Rather than worriedly question and wonder about the future, if she was his forever, from this moment on he realised just what kind of bliss that would be. Memories flashed his mind of what they had done this weekend, of what they'd done during the entire duration of their relationship... How it showed no sign of ever slowing down from the past two-ish years of their love. How he wouldn't trade all the money in the world for his darling, his pretty girl.

Just looking at her now, soft smile directed towards him, a kind of beauty he couldn't form into words radiating off her. He could spend forever like this. Mornings of home cooked breakfasts, afternoons working alongside each other and evenings of either going out or staying in. Everything seemed to make him excited, he craved to experience it all, experience it all with her at his side. She was his certainty, she would be it. His number one, his forever.

"Yeah..." He muttered out softly, pushing the mug to his lips to take a sip of bitterly black coffee. "I could spend forever with you too." Just seeing the way her eyes slightly squinted as she smiled made his heart burst, his hand found itself reaching over to brush his thumb over the edges of her lips to rub away crumbs. "You eat like a baby, you know that?" "But I'm your baby." She grinned, letting his hand linger on her cheek as his stare was nothing but overwhelming tenderness. Yeah, she was his. And in that moment he decided that he'd be sure to make it official, more official than just the common titles of boyfriend and girlfriend.

Because, that was the moment he realised... This was the girl he was going to marry.

and oooh even more. ik i sound so heated but like there’s just a few things i’ve noticed that i wanted to point out.

a lot of ppl like to cross the line with jay when it comes to teasing him and stuff. it’s completely fine for the boys to do it considering they’re pretty close from what we’ve seen and that is their dynamic. i’m sure if jay truly had an issue with them poking fun at him 24/7 he’d say something to them in private by now. he is a grown man. however, it’s so weird that some fans see it as grounds to also make fun of jay to the point it’s too much. i have seen it every once in a while on social media and it gets me so upset. there’s a line and some ppl love to cross it when it’s jay. i love that man so much and these things irk me so much sometimes because ik he and the other boys lurk on twitter all the time. (hopefully they are nowhere near tumblr because 😭😭😭)

ok this is truly the end cause i need to study for my exam but hopefully im not like being too deep or overreacting

- 🐥

BESTIE WHEN I TELL YOU THIS WAS ALSO ON MY LIST OF THINGS THAT ANKOY ME BC OH MY GOOOODDDDDDD i HATE how some engenes treat jay like its so..it hurts my heart so much bc you can actually tell how much he lowvs and appreciates his boys like his mother literally called them his BROTHERS and thats bc they ARE. beothers bicker and tease each other and i just know they'd cut it off if he didnt enjoy it or took it personally but like some engenes take it way too far and that bothers me so much. the whole mean jay agenda is SO lame too like stop being so mean to him bc you think he is like sorry you and your friends dont understand friendly bickering smh

A Tale of Two Princes by Eric Geron

Edward Dinnissen leads a charmed life. He’s the Crown Prince of Canada, gets the royal treatment at his exclusive private school, and resides in a ritzy mansion. He thrives off being the perfect prince as he prepares for the Investiture Ceremony on his eighteenth birthday, the final step in his role as heir—and Canada’s future king. But this closeted Crown Prince has just one tiny problem: he’s unsure how to tell his parents, his beloved country, and his adoring fans that he’s gay.

Billy Boone should be happy with the simple life. His family’s ranch is his favorite place in the world, he loves his small town, and his boyfriend is the cutest guy at Little Timber High. So why does it feel like something’s still missing? Maybe it has to do with the fact that this out-and-proud cowboy feels destined for something more . . .

When Edward and Billy meet by chance in New York City, they discover that they are long-lost twins, and their lives are forever changed. Together, will these twin princes—“twinces”—be able to take on high school, coming out, and coronations? Or will this royal reunion quickly become a royal train wreck?

The Author: Eric Geron (pronounced: jur-ON) is the New York Times bestselling author of The Hocus Pocus Spell Book, Poultrygeist, and Bye Bye, Binary, along with numerous other titles, including the New York Times bestselling Descendants novelization under the name Rico Green. He earned his creative writing degree from the University of Miami and spent many years at Disney as an editor of New York Times bestselling books. He currently resides in New York City. You can find him on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok @EricGeron and on his website at ericgeron.com.

SOCIAL LINKS: Author Website: http://www.ericgeron.com/ Twitter: @ericgeron Instagram: @ericgeron

BUY LINKS: Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/a-tale-of-two-princes-eric-geron/17303731?ean=9781335425928 IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781335425928 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-tale-of-two-princes-eric-geron/1139818443?ean=9781335425928 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tale-Two-Princes-Eric-Geron/dp/1335425926/ref=sr_1_1?crid=UZDE2OJQW6AF&keywords=a+tale+of+two+princes&qid=1672864767&sprefix=a+tale+of+two+princes%2Caps%2C98&sr=8-1

EXCERPT: Chapter One

EDWARD “Handsome and charming? How is Canada’s perfect royal son possibly still single?” Travis Romano, Dean of Admissions at The Juilliard School here in New York, gives me a meaty handshake. A gigantic grin plasters his face and his green eyes crinkle at the corners. He shifts his stance as if hoping the photographers will be able to capture a few good shots of this moment. It’s the same irk-some question I’ve been dodging since the day I went from “Royal Tot” to “Royally Hot.” The clanging of crystal quiets as a hush falls around the dean. A Silicon Valley tech guru sets down her glass of Bor-deaux to lovingly place her hand on her husband’s arm. The president’s son gives me a cheeky grin. Everyone within a three-metre radius is now silent, impatiently waiting to hear how I’ll respond. For a moment, I imagine telling everyone the truth: “Guess what? I’m gay! And I don’t want to marry a woman and one day have babies to continue the royal bloodline.” But I’ll never say that. It’s too important to my parents—and all of Canada—that I follow in their footsteps. And as next in line to the Maple Crown, it’s too important that I be a good king for my people one day. EDWARD “Handsome and charming? How is Canada’s perfect royal son possibly still single?” Travis Romano, Dean of Admissions at The Juilliard School here in New York, gives me a meaty handshake. A gigantic grin plasters his face and his green eyes crinkle at the corners. He shifts his stance as if hoping the photographers will be able to capture a few good shots of this moment. It’s the same irk-some question I’ve been dodging since the day I went from “Royal Tot” to “Royally Hot.” The clanging of crystal quiets as a hush falls around the dean. A Silicon Valley tech guru sets down her glass of Bor-deaux to lovingly place her hand on her husband’s arm. The president’s son gives me a cheeky grin. Everyone within a three-metre radius is now silent, impatiently waiting to hear how I’ll respond. For a moment, I imagine telling everyone the truth: “Guess what? I’m gay! And I don’t want to marry a woman and one day have babies to continue the royal bloodline.” But I’ll never say that. It’s too important to my parents—and all of Canada—that I follow in their footsteps. And as next in line to the Maple Crown, it’s too important that I be a good king for my people one day. So, I’ll never find true love. That’s the cost of my destiny, and I’ve accepted it. Besides, I’m already married—to tradition. MAPLE CROWN RULE 57: Never discuss matters of the heart. To cover my nervousness, I flash my signature sugar-sweet smile—one befitting the Crown Prince of Canada—at the attentive crowd on the dance floor, letting them drink in the seconds. Over the Juilliard violinists playing softly in the back-ground, I answer the dean’s question about how I’m possibly still single with one deadpan word: “Midterms.” Some people chuckle while others begin a chorus of aaaaaaw. The platinum maple leaf brooch on my jacket lapel sits heavy on top of my heart. It identifies me as the Crown Prince of Canada, but it’s also the lock of the box I’m trapped in-side. The truth is, I’m single because I’m a closeted gay guy…and I’m a closeted gay guy because I’m the Crown Prince of Canada. I keep smiling at the crowd, even though the many faces staring back feel overwhelming. I’ve been gone from the public eye for almost a year, so of course everyone is excited to see the “reclusive” Crown Prince return to the limelight. They don’t have to know that “reclusive” actually means I’ve been grounded this whole time, and all because of how poorly I acted at my seventeenth birthday party. In the fallout, Mum and Dad grounded me for the rest of my junior year, then ordered I be sent away to New York City for my senior year. I’ve been here for six months, cooped up between my family’s private Upper East Side residence and a stuffy private school. Sure, there was public scrutiny over my parents shipping me off to New York, but they passed it off as an opportunity to strengthen their tight bonds with Canada’s closest neighbour to the south. No need for anyone to know I had been grounded and sent here as punishment. Luckily, all my efforts to be a model prisoner have paid off, and my parents have just decided I don’t have to be grounded for the rest of my senior year. Tonight they’re giving me the chance to prove I really can be a model Crown Prince. And of course, I promised Mum and Dad I would be on my abso-lute best behaviour. After all, the Investiture Ceremony is in a couple of weeks, which means I have to prove that I’m fully prepared to be heir to the Maple Crown, aka the Canadian Crown. I know I’m ready. I’ve been training for it since I was a child. But I still need to convince the 38,346,809 people of Canada—and the rest of the world too. No pressure, right? Dean Romano claps me on the back, wagging his finger at me with a cloying smile. “Well, we look forward to the day you find the perfect girl.” The rest of the group applauds po-litely and clinks their glasses. I sigh inwardly. Since forever, Mum and Dad have said the same exact thing to me whenever the topic of the future queen has come up. I want to tell my rapt audience that I’m only seventeen years old, and therefore in no rush to marry anyone, obviously. But I’m used to near-total strangers interrogating me about my love life, so I wink at the dean and then add, “I promise that you’ll be the first to know.” MAPLE CROWN RULE 16: Maintain civility in social settings. The semicircle of men and women—okay, mostly women—tightens around me, countless sequined arms and shimmer-ing bare shoulders swarming me like voracious sea creatures. My Adam’s apple presses against my stiff collar. “Who knows?” I add, my sultry smile fighting a twitch as I reach up to loosen my tie. “Maybe I’ll meet someone special here tonight.” MAPLE CROWN RULE 46: Make everyone feel heard Charity balls are a royal pain in the derrière, but also an unfortunate requirement, along with cutting ribbons and giv-ing speeches. With the Dinnissen monarchy still so new, my parents work tirelessly to endear themselves to the Canadian public, which is still forming opinions on our family as its new fledging figureheads—and as soon as I graduate in June and return home to Canada, the full weight of that responsibility will fall upon my shoulders as well. Though I suppose I can’t be too upset with my parents, or as the British press has dubbed them, Canada’s “Maple Syrup Sweeties.” Tonight, they’re off at some admirable conference with our prime minister. Actual important stuff that doesn’t in-volve schmoozing with politicians and celebrities. Well, maybe still some schmoozing—Mum always books her reflexologist before traveling with the PM. Then again, I can’t complain about standing in for them tonight. I’m still just so glad my time of captivity is finally over. “To Prince Edward finding true love!” Dean Romano’s wife, Rebecca, lifts her crystal champagne flute toward the chandelier, and everyone echoes her words, then drains their glasses. I manage to keep smiling. Her toast is yet another painful reminder of something I’ll never have…true love. But that’s the trade-off that comes with getting to be king one day. It’s more exhausting than I remembered to keep pretending I’m something I’m not. I really need to get a breath of fresh air. Excusing myself, I turn away and scan for the back doors of the Grand Ballroom—combing through a choppy ocean of barons, dignitaries, dukes, and celebrities. All resplendent in sheer gowns and sleek black ties. All elated to speak to me. But I don’t care about any of them. I only care about one per-son. Where the hell is Neel, anyway? To think I call him my best friend. And where the hell is the exit? Gord Lauzon, Canadian secretary to Dad and my personal adviser since I was a child, is laughing up a storm with a group of people against the ballroom’s gilded wall. Like always, Gord looks sharp in a luxury suit and tie, his head freshly shaved and gleaming white. He was Granny’s ex–private secretary who now controls the press office, acts as the vital channel of com-munication between my parents and the Canadian govern-ment, and manages my day-to-day. Gord also works as liaison to the Institution—or “Firm”—that keeps the Royal Family running like one big business. He was delighted my ground-ing presented him with a chance to ratchet up his royal lessons. That is, after he got over the sour taste it left in his mouth. He meets my eyes through his bold-framed glasses. After six months of him being my New York City babysitter, aka my parents’ eyes on me, I can tell he’s checking in. He subtly extends his arm, pressing fingertip to thumb, our signal for asking if everything is copacetic. I doubt anything foul will happen in this historic hotel’s grand old ballroom, other than me breaking a heart or two, so I return the gesture and he nods in understanding. Though, if I’m being honest, I could use his help to point out the exit door. I check my timepiece and realize I’ve only been here for an hour. I used to be so good at wowing the crowds at these fundraisers. I’ve got to get back on top of my game. That is, after I take that much-needed brief break. “Well, if it isn’t Canada’s Golden Child,” says a sly voice in my ear. Suddenly, I’m being suffocated by a thick cloud of vanilla perfume as I turn to take in the full lips and chiseled cheek-bones of Sephora’s latest global ambassador, aka Lady Sofia Marchand, aka Fi, aka my frenemy since childhood. In an exquisite seafoam-blue couture gown with enough tulle to make Cinderella jealous, she looks every bit an ethereal fairy tale goddess. Click! The event photographer trips the shutter of his camera be-fore I can even utter a greeting. Seamlessly, Fi throws her head back in laughter as if I’ve just showed her the most hilarious GIF in the world. Instinctively, I tighten my core, relax my shoulders, and flex my chest. MAPLE CROWN RULE 13: Have a royal presence. Gord once told me that the best way to have perfect posture was to pretend someone was pulling a string right up through the top of my head, like a puppet. I was five. That’s me, all these years later: Perfect Puppet Prince Eddie, aching mouth unhinged, grin and all. And Lady Sofia knows just how to pull my strings. With British aristocracy on her mum’s side and descending from French nobles on her Canadian dad’s side, Fi’s been one of my Crown-approved acquaintances since we were kids at Ash-wood Elementary in Ottawa. For years, we’ve attended the same polo and equestrian summer camp, the same celebrity birthday parties, and the same VIP meet-and-greets backstage at sold-out concerts. It’s painstakingly evident that our par-ents are hoping for a romantic spark, but Fi and I are less like maple syrup in milk and more like oil and water. I thought we might be rid of each other when I moved south of the border for my senior year, but no such luck. Her parents put her into St. Aubyn’s Prep as soon as they heard I would be attending, which she didn’t seem to mind. Click! “Well if it isn’t New York’s hottest crown-chaser,” I mut-ter out the corner of my mouth. “Given how elusive you are, it’s no wonder I haven’t caught it yet.” Fi laughs—cackling this time. “It’s only a matter of time.” She perches one hand on my shoulder while lightly clasping it with the other, her front leg shifting to elegantly eclipse her back leg. She’s all fair skin tinged pink, peachy cheeks, silver-highlighted collarbones, and smoky cat eye. Click! Behind the photographer a few yards away, I spy a huddle of girls my age clamouring for my attention, hopping and waving their arms about. I’ll have to deal with them soon, I’m sure. MAPLE CROWN RULE 52: Every person is important. That includes the fangirls. Ça va. Beside me, Fi drops her sculpted arms and shoulders back, puffing out her chest. “What’s it been, nearly a year since you’ve hit the social scene? Glad your ’rents finally let you off the short leash.” I smile very sweetly, keeping my eyes trained ahead. “As am I.” Click! “I can’t wait to get even more photos with you at the gala on Thursday night,” Fi continues. “I assume you’ll be there.” “Wouldn’t miss it.” The photographer lowers his camera and nods, as if to say he’s captured enough. Bien. Fi faces me and talks through her smile. “My work here is done. It’s been real, loser. See you in school!” Then she turns to the photographer. “Make sure you tag me—that’s Sofia with an f.” She scoffs to herself. “As if he doesn’t already know that.” MAPLE CROWN RULE 101: No personal social media accounts. So, that’s a thing, albeit fairly new. My Royal Family has general verified accounts instead, of course. At my last check, the @CanadianRoyals had 20.6 million followers. And pho-tos of me happen to get the most likes. I look past Fi, lingering despite her goodbyes, and inad-vertently lock pupils with one of the girls in the huddle, who takes the fleeting eye contact for an invitation. Gathering her black gown, she rushes forward. Her gaggle of friends follows with hungry expressions, flocking my way in a V-formation. A crushing weight settles on my chest. Although the pressure of being a royal is ever-present, at least when I was grounded I didn’t have to deal with this level of people-pleasing. Nodding toward the girls, Fi scrunches up her delicate nose. “Good luck with that.” She flashes the crowd an enchant-ing smile, flips her long ombré hair, and strides down a non-existent red carpet while all heads turn her way and another photographer flails for her attention. Well. That’s Lady Sofia for you, je ne sais quoi and all. “Your Royal Highness!” says the girl in the black gown, who appears to be squatting in what I suppose is her attempt at a perfunctory curtsy. “Sir, may I get a photo with you, too?” I freeze, trying with all my might not to roll my eyes. Members of the Royal Family must always be gracious. “Of course, mademoiselle!” Growing up with a French-speaking nanny clearly rubbed off on me—along with remedial French lessons at school. “Thank you!” she squeals, then turns to her posse and mouths, Mademoiselle! She angles her phone overhead, and I see my brow wrinkling on-screen. MAPLE CROWN RULE 102: No selfies Another recent rule. My grandmother and the family matri-arch, the queen of England, managed to officially deem self-ies as unfit for royalty. Too common. Too vain. I agree with some of the Maple Crown Rules inspired by Granny’s original ones (the Buckingham Crown Rules). But a lot of the tradi-tional values that any Royal Family thrives on are woefully backward. C’est comme ça. I gesture at the event photographer still hovering nearby. “Shall we have him take the photo? I trust my friend here will do a fine job capturing your beauty.” “Oh, of course, sir!” The girl titters abashedly and tucks her phone into a sequin clutch. We assume the position while her friends look on, capturing every moment behind their screens. Others move in to watch too, unwittingly revealing the exit behind the photographer. He snaps a few shots and then walks over, showing us the photos. I smile in approval, then I rely on an old standby and wave to an invisible friend across the packed ballroom. “I’m terri-bly sorry,” I tell the growing cluster of waiting girls. “I must step out for a brief moment. I’ll be back very soon! I promise.” MAPLE CROWN RULE 18: Depart at the right moment Technically I also broke the rule Royals don’t apologize, but I can typically let that one slide. I am Canadian, after all. Flashing one last dashing smile, I make my escape. The good ol’ Flash-and-Dash. Works every time. I spin on my heel and bump into a table, sending plates and glasses chattering like teeth (how unlike me!), then course-correct, making my way toward the exit. In my periphery, Gord excuses himself from his coterie of raucous socialites and follows, a long shadow tethered to my every stride, while I search for that pesky in-visible friend who conveniently can’t seem to stay in one place, weaving in and out and greeting the crème de la crème as I go. “How are you?” I call to a NASA astronaut. I wave at a Scot-tish minister. “Hello there! Smart-looking kilt!” “Salut! Comment va votre famille?” I ask the French ambassa-dor. I crank my megawatt smile up to an eleven for the prime minister of Japan. “Sumimasen,” I say. MAPLE CROWN RULE 36: Royals should speak multiple languages. For everyone else, I use my nod/twinkle-in-eye combo that’s friendly, but also too intimidating for anyone to do more than reply with a wave, smile, or nod. Otherwise, they’d be on me like flies on maple syrup. I reach the exit, soar through a series of doors, and maneuver past the black-and-white-clad waitstaff wheeling out carts of teacups. Everybody is so busy, they don’t even notice me in all the hubbub. I push a swinging aluminum traffic door, stepping past the bustling kitchen, and take a flight of steps down to a door leading to a break room reeking of what I can only assume is the smell of old coffee where I know no one will find me. It’s empty, except for a guy my age in a worker’s uniform sitting at a rickety little table, gazing at his phone. I drop into a folding chair at a table in front of him, loosen my tie some more, and let out a whoosh of air. I’m safe. For now. “Oh!” he says with a start, nervously pushing back his bangs. “Can I help you? Are you lost?” “I’m fine. It’s okay that I’m in here, right?” I ask. His glimmering eyes dart around. “Umm, normally they’d make me kick guests out for…reasons.” He suddenly notices my maple leaf brooch, and blushes. “But it’s cool! I won’t tell. Your Royal Highness, sir,” he adds hastily. I almost begin to disclose why I’m hiding out in the first place. But then I remember. MAPLE CROWN RULE 77: Only share what is necessary. It’s technically: Only share with your subjects what is necessary, but I’ve truncated it. I don’t have subjects. At least, not yet. I nod. “Perfect. Thanks.” “D-do you want some privacy?” he stammers. He stands up to leave, and his phone falls from his hand. It skitters across the warped linoleum, coming to a rest at the tip of my shiny black patent leather shoes. I pick it up and hand it back to him. “No, no, it’s fine. Stay. I just needed a tiny break. I’ll be out in a jiffy.” I give the break room a cursory scan, eyes sweeping cabinets, a sink, a small white fridge. “Do you have any food? I’m famished.” One of his eyebrows quirks in bewilderment. “Oh, you didn’t get a chance to eat?” “At a charity event like this one? Too much schmoozing. Not enough eating. As it goes.” He lets out a little laugh. “Let me see what we have.” He vanishes up into the stairwell, then comes trundling back down a minute later with a tray of miniature desserts: everything from frozen mochi and mint sorbet to macarons and bonbons with gold leafing on top. “Super!” I pinch up a pink mochi and pop it in my mouth. “Have one.” He hesitates, but after darting a glance at the door, he selects a pale green one. “Staff isn’t supposed to eat these,” he says, but he bites down on it anyway. “Look at us,” I remark. “Me trespassing in employee break rooms and you eating forbidden mochi. We’re breaking all the rules.” We both laugh. “So, you work here? Aren’t you in high school like me?” “Yeah. But I just work nights. I’m saving up for college. My uncle got me the job. He’s a cook here.” I take another mochi. Double chocolate. A favourite. “Do you cook too?” “I try.” He laughs, running his hand through his shiny black hair. “What about you?” Best not to share how all of my meals are prepared for me at the risk of sounding elitist. Instead, I grin. “Can you keep a secret? I’ve been working on a chocolate chip cookie recipe that puts Pierre on Park’s to shame.” I pass it off as a joke, but I actually spent all winter experimenting on just that recipe—along with original recipes for fresh new takes on profiteroles, cream puffs, and croquembouches. The guy laughs again, briefly covering his mouth. “I bet.” “I’m serious.” I select a bonbon from the tray. “It’s rather ag-onizing being a foodie when you’re the next leader of a coun-try whose biggest culinary claim to fame is gourmet poutine.” His expression turns contemplative. “Hey, didn’t Canada invent the Twinkie?” “I rest my case.” The guy chuckles and combs his fingers through his hair once more, then locks eyes with me. “I never expected to meet a royal, let alone, well, you. Sorry, you just seem so…normal.” Reddening, he adds, “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t… It’s just, you seem so chill. It’s like hanging out with…a friend from school.” He tucks a strand behind his ear, his eyes downcast, his cheeks practically puce. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.” I swallow. I don’t know why, but my throat has decided to go bone-dry. “It’s easy to talk to you too. Do you get that a lot?” Silence falls. My stomach drops as soon as the words escape my lips. Do I sound like I’m coming onto him? What am I babbling about to this stranger? But much to my relief, a smile washes across his face like sunlight. I’m wondering what to say next when— Slam! The break room door bursts open, and I hear the voice of my best friend. “Edward! There you are!” The worker and I jump with a start, stepping away from one another as if we were just caught hiding a dead body. In struts Neel Singh, aforementioned best friend who also happens to be the son of Zubin Singh, Indian ambassador to Canada. Let me tell you about Neel. People think I’m charming, but Neel can get them eating out of the palm of his manicured hand in seconds—including my parents, who bizarrely enough think him being in New York with me is a good thing. He grew up all over the world, but stayed in Ottawa long enough for us to become best friends, a relationship which fully crystallized after we built a snowman with a creatively placed carrot. Thank goodness it melted before my parents or Gord saw it. And now, he’s in New York for his senior year too. Only Neel could con-vince his parents that he should move to another country for his last year of high school. I guess he griped enough about being separated from his best friend that they eventually caved. But in this moment, with the worker’s eyes still locked on mine, I’m kind of wishing Neel’s parents had kept him in Ottawa. I fold my arms across my chest. “Oh, now you decide to show up. Where were you forever ago when I was looking for you, mon chum?” Neel glances at the worker, whose name I wish I knew—que c’est gênant—then back at me, grinning. “Oh, you’ve made a new friend?” “Shut up,” I growl so low that only Neel can hear me. He knows my secret and I trust him to keep it, but sometimes what he says in front of others makes me sweat. He ignores me and walks across the break room. “Hi. I’m Neel. It’s so nice to meet you.” He pumps my new friend’s hand, lingering for far too long. He has a knack for being overly friendly. And there’s no denying Neel looks suave in his tailored black suit, crisp white button-up that contrasts nicely against the warm bronze undertones of his brown skin, and bow tie that perfectly matches his silk pocket square. Probably a look he “borrowed” from the runway he walked in Milan. The perks of being incredibly wealthy and good-looking. “Nice to meet you too.” The guy looks from Neel to me, flashes a timid smile, and scurries from the room before I can utter salut. Neel shoots me a knowing smirk then starts washing his hands at the sink. He ditched me all night, only showing up to barge in and scare off my new friend. This is low, even for him. “Can you believe they had no vegetarian options?” he asks incredulously. “Meat pies for as far as the eye could see.” “Seriously, where have you been? I needed you,” I say. “And how did you find me?” He dries his hands on a dish rag then snatches up a bonbon. “I have my sources,” he says through a mouthful. I glare. I could murder him. Use industrial-strength kitchen cleaner to hide the evidence. “Fine.” Neel sticks his thumb into a vanilla mochi, then jerks it in the direction of the door. Right on cue, Gord sets foot into the break room, looking less than pleased. “Your Royal Highness.” Rolling my eyes at Neel, I give Gord the signal that all is well. But as Neel rests a hand on my forearm, I’m no longer sure. He’s got that look in his eye. “I’m bored of the ball, so I’m thinking we leave before the raffle and silent auction.  Besides—” he beams his radiant smile “—there’s a private shindig taking place now at Beauty and Essex—no nonsense this time. Say you’ll come? Great! Let’s go.” Neel hooks his arm in mine and twists in the direction of the door. He may have made the Forbes 30 Under 30 Asia list, but right now, he’s number 1 on my naughty list. I plant my feet. “Sounds sweet, but I’d rather not end up grounded again.” Neel grips my face, pleading. “Please? Pretty please with maple sugar on top?” I pry his fingers off. “Tempting,” I say, “but I’m afraid I’m immune to your charms, my friend.” He grins impishly. “I’ll do your AP Chem lab homework,” he says in singsong. He knows that’s my Achilles’ heel. I sigh. “You better not make me regret this.” Gord clears his throat. “Sir.” He slowly shakes his head. Neel knots his fingers together pleadingly. “But I’ll have him home by midnight, G!” I raise an eyebrow. “Who are you, my fairy godmother?” With Neel, “midnight” means 4:30 a.m. Neel’s dad still lives in Ottawa, his mum’s in India, and he has no chaperone here, so he’s pretty much a free agent. The notion of “curfew” is not something he’s well acquainted with. While Neel’s par-ents are barely even aware of his zip code, mine like to be in the know, even with being busy running and continuing to establish a somewhat new form of monarchy. Hence, Gord, who I’m practically closer with than my own father. Gord picks a piece of invisible lint off my jacket. “I don’t advise it, sir. Your parents gave me direct orders—your name is not ending up in the tabloids.” He straightens my brooch. “Again,” he adds tartly. It’s true. Dad did say leading up to this event that if I had one more bad run-in with the press, he was going to revoke my going-out privileges for good. Neel gasps and clutches his chest. “What happened last time was not his fault.” Gord turns on Neel. “You mean when His Royal Highness was photographed setting off fireworks for his birthday party on a yacht in the Ottawa River? A little stunt that burned down half the trees on the waterfront? You’re both lucky it didn’t launch a media blitz.” I feel myself blushing. “I didn’t know it was illegal to set off fireworks from a yacht, pour l’amour du Christ!” At this response, Gord clenches his jaw. I know what that means. This conversation is over. Neel knows it too. He screws up his mouth in defeat, and sighs. “Bye, bharˉa.” His nickname for me, “brother” in Pun-jabi, never fails to pull at my heartstrings. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Have fun for both of us?” Neel eases back into his radiant smile, eyes playful again. He winks. “Oh, I always do.” “Prince Edward! Prince Edward! Over here!” Paparazzi surround us, cameras flashing, as we step out into the Manhattan night. A frigid breeze buffets down the ave-nue, fluttering awnings. My chauffeur holds open the door to my black town car as I duck inside, exchanging the icy air for blissful artificial warmth. Camera lenses take aim, yards from the tinted windows. Good luck getting a decent shot. The paparazzi here truly are as ubiquitous as rats on subway tracks. Not that I’ve ever taken the subway. Gord buckles into the passenger seat, and the chauffeur pulls the car onto 59th while the paparazzi give chase, shouting my name. Before kicking me out of Rideau Hall, Mum and Dad never failed to remind me that the paparazzi in New York would be documenting my every folly, unlike in Canada where the industry isn’t quite so rabid and boundaries are better re-spected (other than the Daily Maple, the source for most Royals- related reports and rumours). Going out and about, acting like a delinquent in New York would not only mean my family would find out about it, but the rest of the world as well. Given Mum and Dad’s own distaste for paparazzi, they must have felt pretty desperate to have sent me here, but it’s been quite ef-fective. That, and being under Gord’s constant supervision. We cross the intersection, leaving Central Park behind us, its naked treetops illuminated by city lights. From the front seat, Gord turns up the radio volume and soft classical music plays. He knows it’s one of the few things that relaxes me. I lean back, take a deep breath, and pull out my phone. A million Google alerts pop up. What? Of course I have a Google alert for my own name. I need to know what people are saying about me after my reentry into the party scene. It’s mostly just gossipy tabloid stories, an occasional fashion mag-azine editorial, and the inevitable message board comments perpetuating age-old rumours and adding to tired conspiracy theories. When it comes to the relatively new Canadian mon-archy, people love trying to spill royal Earl Grey tea. Just before I was born, Mum and Dad fled across the pond to Canada in hopes of escaping the scrutiny of the English press. Waking up to a new disparaging headline every day about Mum being a lowly commoner from Canada was un-tenable for them—not to mention being baited and badgered by slimy photographers wherever they set foot. My parents had even been prepared to leave the Royal Family and relinquish their official titles—anything to help put an ocean between them and the snaky British tabloids. A while back, there was a movement to one day replace Granny with a homegrown Canadian Royal Family, but noth-ing came of it. Our current situation was the result of an agreement with the Canadian prime minister at the time. Apparently, he recognized that Canadian love for the Royal Family was good for business. (Our official merch alone con-tributes greatly to Canada’s bottom line.) The fact Dad was born on Canadian soil before growing up in England made him a natural fit for Canadian king. On my phone, I’m idly poking around popular royal hashtags and notice that someone has reposted, for the zillionth time, that old and super famous long-range paparazzi photo of my parents arriving home at Rideau Hall with bundled-up newborn me. It was the first time the paparazzi had caught a glimpse of The Canadian Royal Baby. Given my mum’s ner-vousness about paparazzi, my parents had hidden out at the super private Hôpital Royal Jolee in Montreal for the birth, far from where anyone expected them to go. It’s one of the only photos of me as a child to have gotten out. To no one’s surprise, it was from a wily and out-of-town photographer who wasn’t afraid of being blacklisted. Since that day, my parents have held an iron grip on our private lives, only slightly loosening up the photography ban when I en-tered high school a little over three years ago. (Hello, People magazine cover shoot!) Despite her secretly difficult pregnancy, Mum appears healthy, rested, and as much a fashion icon as ever in the photo, step-ping out of a town car in a formfitting dress with the traditional maple leaf tartan pattern. Dad cradles me in a blanket woven with the same fabric. I’ve seen this photo so many times that I know it by heart. I tap back to my notifications. Many of the alerts swirl around the topic of me at tonight’s ball, with a few official photos starting to surface, most showing me on the red carpet, hands in pockets. The one of me with Fi is already trending. Just as she’d hoped. I let out a sigh. It does little to release the familiar feeling of pressure and expectation building in my heart and chest. The whole world is watching, commenting on my every move. I have to uphold the royal Dinnissen glory, or our Canada goose is cooked, because there’s a lot to live up to as Crown Prince, aka Prince Royal. Mum and Dad had the perfect modern-day fairy tale love story: prince meets born-and-bred Cana-dian commoner and falls in love. People have always eaten up and adored their story, even with its darker, nearly-stripped-of-their-titles side to it. Suddenly, the heat in the car has become stifling. I crack the window for some fresh air. As much as I love the perks of being Crown Prince, sometimes I want to throw all the rules out the window. But when ever I get that urge, I remember the fiasco that was my seventeenth birthday party. I’ve learned my lesson. And what choice do I have? I’m trapped. Gord is always telling me that it’s much easier for Canada to get rid of our monarchy than to further change it. I can hear Gord reciting Maple Crown Rule 1, drilling it into my brain like he has my entire life: Duty to the Crown above all else. I open the faceless alias Instagram account, aka Finsta, that I secretly made for myself—mostly to drool over slow-mo videos of people frosting cakes or pulling gooey, piping-hot cookies apart, and to read baking “top tips” from my favourite maître pâtissiers, or master pastry chef—Chef Pierre—who regularly unveils his latest innovative desserts at his culinary school in Paris that end up on the menu of his world-renowned bakery-café here in New York. Of course, there are also the gay couple accounts I peruse, with varying arrays of cutesy, saccharine selfies. I want what they have. As I scroll, I can’t help daydreaming about going back to the break room, letting the cute guy pull me up onto one of those rickety little tables, his lips parting as we press against each other… I can never tell a soul, let alone the world, about my petit secret. I am absolutely certain that if I were to come out, the powers that be would find a way to strip me of my title. I can’t let that happen. Do I sometimes wish I could have a normal life that allows me to settle down with a nice guy? Yes, I do. But not more than I want that crown. Besides, it would break my par-ents’ hearts if their only son didn’t succeed them on the throne. Sure, my family has had their own fair share of secrets. Hell, here are more secrets than rules (and if you couldn’t tell by now, we have a lot of rules). My Royal Family tree isn’t with-out its rotten apples—or rotten maple leaves, to keep things on brand. But I may just be the worst. A blight, the one to petrify the family tree so that not a single leaf remains cling-ing to its ancient branches. It’s bad enough that the Firm and current conservative government share a little-known penchant for wanting to streamline the Royal Family, meaning the three of us could be stripped of our titles at any moment. Selfishly, abdicating the throne would alleviate me of the immense weight to remain in the closet. But I couldn’t do that to my parents, even if I could find a good way out, and there isn’t one—out of the closet or out of the monarchy. After the stunt I pulled at my last birthday, Mum and Dad have felt like the three of us are in danger of losing our position in Canada and being sent to live out the rest of our days in a drafty, for-gotten castle in Cornwall. But my parents won’t have to worry about the monarchy dissipating to the Chinook winds. I was raised to be Crown Prince of Canada, destined to fulfill my royal birthright. Even if it does mean no love life. To bear a crown of power is to be alone, right? I press my nose to the cold window glass, hearing ambu-lance sirens blaring in the distance. Normally, traditions im-posed on the heir to the throne wouldn’t be a huge problem. Except, well… UNSPOKEN MAPLE CROWN RULE: Don’t be gay, eh? DAILY MAPLE ONLINE THE ROYAL ROUNDUP March 2, 06:23 a.m. ET PRINCE EDWARD SIZZLES BACK INTO THE SPOTLIGHT by Omar Scooby Welcome back, Eddie! After ten months of skirting the spotlight following his seventeenth birthday debacle, the Crown Prince of Canada slides back into the social scene with a rare appearance at a star-studded gala. Entering the ballroom last night at the Plaza Hotel, the Crown Prince of Canada was a sight to behold—wowing in a tailored suit and titillating partygoers with his wit, charm, and majestic magnetism. The world has truly missed seeing that hundred-watt smile. The Daily Maple spoke to an insider about what it’s like for him, being a teen heartthrob. When asked about any details surrounding the highly anticipated Investiture Ceremony, our close-to-the-royal-family insider went mum. What has the prince got up his hemmed silken sleeves? We hope to find out and see a whole lot more of him—and his winning smile—in the coming days.

RELATED STORIES King Frederick Speaks to Prime Minister of Singapore Queen Daphnée Promises to Lower Housing Costs Canadian Prime Minister: Hottest Politician Alive?

Excerpted from A Tale of Two Princes. Copyright © 2023 by Eric Geron. Published by Inkyard Press.

possibly slightly self entitled rant but cc’s having private Twitter accounts that only a select few people who got here in time for annoys me honestly. Like I’d understand if more people got added over time but I literally only found out about it hours after it had already gone private. am i a bit salty over not getting in? probably, but i can still be annoyed at the fact that certain fans get more exclusive stuff based off an arbitrary cut off point. maybe it’s just a bit of fomo too but it’s just frustrating and feels very gatekeepy.

Okay, so this post will talk about Lance but I will also give my opinion on the Lando situation since I think it is important.

First off, I think it says a lot about Lando that he made an apology. Now, be it because of the backlash he faced, because he actually saw the harm he was causing or because he genuinely regrets it, that is something I don't know. What I do know is that by apologising for it, he acknowledges that his behaviour was wrong and that is really important because it shows that he reflected on himself.

While I do still feel irked by something about the message, be it that he isn't naming Lance or Lewis who he both targeted with his actions in different ways and apologise to them directly which he might have done in person, so I am not able to judge it or be it the weird sorry at the end, I can put aside my feelings and say that this was the right thing to do and is also setting an example for his fans who were one of my main issues with all of this. They then know that saying that was not right and might learn from it themselves.

But this post isn't about Lando. This post is about Lance.

As most of you might have heard, Lance was really affected by what happened on track. He can clearly see that he is anxious and uncomfortable in his post race interview and what happened afterwards tells the story (I don't really want to talk about it because this is something private that he did not share and it is like with the story on Twitter something that was shared by other people who he didn't give the right to share it too so I don't want to spread it any further.)

This is who Lance is.

Someone who is sensitive and takes a lot of things personally.

You want to know why? Because he has, as a person, always been blamed for his dad's wealth. As if he choose to grow up with a billionaire dad. As if he is somehow responsible for it.

And he has always been painted out as someone undeserving, someone that doesn't have talent and totally owns his position to the money of his dad.

Now, let me just give you some data because I want to totally discredit this made up stuff with no roots.

In 2015, he won the Toyota Racing Series. He won by a bit over 100 points. The second finisher was his teammate. You might now some of the other drivers who competed in this series for example one Callum Iliot or Artjom Markelow.

Or in 2016,his first season in Formula 3, he finished fifth. The winner of that year was Felix Rosenquvist (a great driver) who was also Lance teammate and had only one DNF in comparison to Lance 5 and a DSQ. Now, there are two other drivers, one that was the runner up in Antonio Giovinazzi and a fourth who was Charles Leclerc. Pretty competitive field if you ask me and to finish 5th as a rookie,is impressive.

Now, fast forward a year to when he won the F3 championship. He won over his teammate by a margin of over 150 points which is so impressive, even with the two more DNFs his teammate, Maximilian Günther (another great driver) had that is quiet a lot.

Now, if you really want to use the argument that he skipped F2 against him, there is another driver you should be discrediting just as much. You guessed it, M*x V*rstappen. He also went straight into F1 which was a definite mistake but nobody ever likes to say that. I would also like you to remember that Lance did not drive for F1 as a regular driver immediately after he won the championship, no in 2016 he was a test driver, so he could slowly get used to F1. (This is not official but I would guess it's the thought process behind him being a test driver.)

Now, in 2017, his first F1 season, he was teammates of Felipe Massa. Might have heard of him, lost his championship to Lewis by one point, was teammate of Micheal Schumacher and a generally way more experienced driver. Yeah, you wanna know what the difference between him and Lance was in Lance first season? 3 points. And Lance had 2 more DNFs. You know what else he got in his first season? His first podium. In his first season, he became one of the youngest people to ever achieve a podium. With just 7 rounds into his first F1 season, in an okay midfield car with a way more experienced and older driver he was up against, he achieved a podium. And during the entire course of the season, that would remain the only podium for the Williams team that year.

Now, onto 2018. Williams was not as bad as in 2019 but they were still nowhere in terms of pace and he still didn't finish last in the championship (but I don't think we can count this season.)

In 2019, Checo became his teammate. And Checo in my opinion is one of the best midfield drivers, so there was already a lot he had to go up against and he was still so young and had less experience. There is a 30 point difference between them. Make of that what you want but for me, sure it was not Lance greatest season but now you have to think if Racing Point where really that good go be the fifth best car or if maybe, Checo just got more out of the car with his experience and talent. And than, you have to consider that he was still young and only had one season where he was truly competitive (that 2018 Williams was not something you could truly challenge anyone with.) And to then be up to one of the best midfield drivers who is widely appreciated and adored by the paddock, is a lot. Maybe for some of you it was too big of a gap which is alright.

However, don't dismiss his talent. He has had a good junior career and was up to some of the drivers you love and call talented, he even beat some of your faves. Maybe you don't see him as the next great driver but he is not a bad one and truly deserves a seat if you consider his achievements. Maybe he could have proven himself more if he had a season in F2 which is fair but that doesn't take away from anything he has achieved.

And even if you don't see him as talented, that gives you no right to bully him online. He can't change who his dad is.

Now,onto the money. I see a lot of people saying that he is only in F1 because of the money (which I hope you have by now realized is not the case.) But really, let's talk about the money.

Money is something that sadly plays a big role in F1. F1 is above all still a business. And businesses want money. So, why not take someone who has money and talent like Lance? Where are you all saying Michael only got his seat because of money (he is a pay-driver after all or at least he was one when he came to F1.) And now let's talk about his move to Racing Point. Can you truly blame Lawrence for wanting to make his sons dream come true? Wouldn't any father if they had the resources do this? Wouldn't any father want to fufill his son's dream, even if it might be seen as unethical by some or criticized? Would you really care if you saw how happy your kid was? Would you really care if you saw the glow you kid had? I don't think so.

I already said it but he was at Williams before he was at RP. His dad doesn't own that team or have any chairs in it.

Let's forget his profession for a second. Let's say you don't find him talented as a driver or just don't like him, fine. You are entitled to your opinion and sometimes we just don't like people, it happens.

What else would you have against him?

He doesn't post on social media often because people already bully him enough for his family. There is basically nothing you can dislike about him there.

And as a person? He is quiet and basically does nothing to anger people. He is literally just a normal dude. He goes on trips with his friends, he does sports to stay in shape and watches sports. He is not even posting personal stuff because he doesn't want to give people more room to bully him.

If you saw him on the street, would you think he is from a rich family? He does not look like it at all, he looks like that guy from your local sport who is literally just a college student trying to get through life.

And not only was he discredited for all his accomplishments because of something he had no control over but he also saw another driver proudly display a symbol that has been used by people who killed people who belonged to his religion. He saw a driver weat that symbol in cooperation with a company whose boos seems to be a Neo Nazi.

Lance has had to go through to so much shit just because his dad was rich (which Nicky's and Lando's also are, yes I know it's less but it's still more than any of us will probably ever have.)

This boy does nothing wrong.

Did he make a mistake with the maneuvers on Lando? Yes. But he is still so young and also new to F1, he can still learn and is growing as a person and driver. He is expected to perform more just so he proves his worth which he already has because people discredit him for having a rich dad.

Have you seen what he has done this season? He would be in the top 5 had it not been for the last races where none of the DNFs where his fault. Neither was getting Covid or being ill but people literally made fun of him for being in pain, saying stuff like "Did Daddies boy have a little stomach ache?" Yeah, because F1 drivers aren't trainex to perform no matter what, aren't putting their health last when it comes to these things and might have to be really bad if they can't drive and are not even going out of their room.

He has improved so much, he is not blaming other drivers even if they clearly hit him (see Charles) and he stays calm. Because he can't afford to be to emotional since some people would hate him for rightfully calling out others mistakes and just maybe saying that their faves are not flawless and make mistakes (like Charles.)

He has to act a certain way or be a certain way because what would happen if he just showed more of his personality? You call him dull, boring but you don't even try to get to know him. You don't even look up videos where he is more open and comfortable.

He is awkward infront of the press because he has to fear to be discredited or to be questioned about his worth every second.

And all of this pressure, this mask and this pretend eventhough he is just as human as the rest of us. And you see how hard it is, how much he questions himself, how his self-doubt increases and ultimately what happened has happened.

Because while it is just an easy insult for you that you can post anonymously online, it is one of thousands for him.

And you know, he didn't grew up in Europe. Sure he competed with some of the European drivers later one but he didn't have any of them when he started racing and he might already have been an outcast because people would already have seen him as different since his family didn't need to make sacrifices to get him to wear he is now. At least not financially ones. And then, when he came to Europe there were these already formed friend groups and it wasn't easy to get into them. The only friend he had was Esteban and I am so glad. This seems like such an unlikely friendship because they are from totally different backgrounds but that might have been what connected them in the first place. So, with basically only Esteban who liked him from the competitive times, it must have been pretty bad (not to say that the others hated him but I don't think they really cared for him.) I am so glad to see that he now also has Checo and that they get along and I hope that stays this way eventhough all of what has happened (which is also not his fault and I am sure that if he had any say in it, it would have been done differently.) Maybe we can even see their friendship when Checo stays on the grid. And with the potential of Seb next year, that might be the only other friendship or friendly connection he might form.

He is so strong for having to endure the dislike of so many people and he is still so kind and so sweet.

This has been a long post but one that I have wanted to make for a long time. If you got this far, I applaude you.

Aromantic rant

When I was sixteen I got a boyfriend who was a literal sweet. He was handsome, he was shy, he was a gentleman. He also had problems with his family. His mom died when he was young and his family was never the same. I knew him for almost 3 years, we where 11 when that happened, we were in the same school till hs.

When we started dating, it was because people told me he liked me and I kinda liked him too so I gave him a chance. After a few weeks he started telling me about the problems with his family. It was a non ending thing. And I was mad at them because he was such a great boy.

So I introduced him to my family, they welcomed him with open arms. Because my family is kind in a certain kind of way (even if they suck balls in others). I thought I was helping him. Like, I was sharing my family with him since his wasn't really there for him, he could count on us. For a while it was enough.

But then, as time flew by. More fights came and he would always say how fucked up he was. Every time we fight, school would be hell for me. Because he was such a lovable delicate person, everybody adored him. So when I was mad and kept my distance till we talked someone would come up and tell me to give him another chance.

You see I didn't need them to tell me that? It was just a silly fight. But when I came to the boy, he would be a wreck. Not like, crying and telling everyone what happened or anything, because he wasn't like that. But you could see it in his face, the sadness, the suffering. I realized how much power I had over him, and that scared me.

We were in the same class too. So we spent the whole school together, in the breaks he would play soccer with his friends and I would be with my own too. But he sited with me and we talk between classes and everybody in school shipped us.

He got mad if i didn't text him out of school, he would said I wasn't taking our relationship seriously. Like I didn't care. I would say, I'm sorry I was taking a nap, what's up. And he would calm down. It irked me a little, we just spent the whole day together, then I'd think 'stop being a selfish bitch he is your boyfriend'.

This was everyday. Until he got mad again and stopped texting at all after school. When I woke up from my naps to text him he wouldn't answer, but that was ok by me.

He used to lose his phones a lot back then, so he stopped buying them and instead used the computer to talk to me by Twitter. He got mad when I didn't get mad at him, even if i had good reasons not to.

He said that the reason he needed so much attention was because he was fucked up. Because his family was shit, he wanted me there where they were supposed to stand. I told him I was, that he had me and my family. That wasn't enough for him. I tried hard, I really did, after that. To be more girlfriendish, more touchy, more sweet. More not myself. The relationship started to wear me off.

When he first broke up with me I felt bad. Not because our more than 1 year old relationship was over, but because I was relieved. I felt bad, because I used to spend nights crying over how sad HIS life was, how unfair was life with him. And it started to fuck me up too.

We broke up on the weekend. When I stepped in school on Monday everyone was on me.

But what happened? Why? Look at him he is so sad! Give him a chance! You look so good together!

Nobody asked how I felt, my closest friends knew because I told them, and where against me and him going back together.

But the peer pressure was too much.

Things didn't change when we got back together. He still thought I didn't really care for him, that I didn't loved him as much as he loved me. He was right in some way.

A few years ago I realized I was aromantic, knowing about it back then would have helped a lot.

But instead it was just him and me suffering. Because none of us understood why I couldn't just feel the same way he did.

He broke up with me again, when hs was almost over, we where going to different colleges and he was going out of town. If I alredy didn't reach out to him in the same school same city... Much less this way, it would only hurt us more. It was a mature way of thinking and we agreed on it.

Not many months later he started texting me again, asking for another chance, he said he missed me. That he was a fool. He wanted to talk to me, get together again.

I didn't. I told him so. He said ok. He kept texting every now and then, even drunk called me a few times, I didn't answer after the first one.

It hurted that he loved me so much (or thought he did anyways) and I COULDN'T feel the same way. I cared about him. Like a dear friend. I KNEW he was a wonderful person. But I was tired of forcing myself to try to FEEL something I COULDN'T.

I always asked myself why. Why can't I? What is wrong with me?

Because I had boyfriends before him breaking up with me for the same reasons.

I was in second year of college when I learned the term aromantic. And I was so so relieved that I wasn't just some kind of sociopath that couldn't feel love. Because I felt love, just not the romantic one.

Around the same time, I got my eyes in a girl for the first time. I already knew I liked girls a lot more than I should, but never thought much of it. This girl was snarky, had a bad temper and had a AO3 account.

The first time we talked she asked me if I was reading a fanfiction and I freaked out and told her I was reading an online book. She said bull. And showed me her cellphone with a fic open.

We've been together for almost 3 years.

And she's never complained about my lack of romantic gestures. I've never feel obligated to do something nice for her. I get excited when I do it. I hug her and kiss her in private because I don't like romantic pda, only platonic. I've told her I love her because I mean it. Even if it's not the romantic way. Because I would die for this girl, she's amazing, she's strong and she annoys the hell out of me sometimes. But we talk and work things out. And we are honest and accept it when we do wrong.

I don't love her like the disney movies teached me how you're supposed to love someone.

But I love her nonetheless.

And I'm happy I get to love someone in my own way and that they accept the love I can give them and treasure it.

I realized I was aromantic really late. I hurted, and got hurt by, many people. And I'm trying to do better. I talk with some of them, some of them give me the cold shoulder. This sweet boy from the beginning got a new girlfriend and I'm SO happy for him.

People don't believe me, think I'm only relieved he'll leave me alone now. I don't care. I loved that boy once I cared for him. A lot people who feel romantic love have done horrible things.

Love doesn't have to be romantic to be true. To be powerful.

Exiting the vampires' palace: The tabloids are angry because Harry revealed how it works

You're not meant to explain how the gossip gets made.

Mic Wright

7 hr ago

The British Royal Family, the Captain Renault in Casablanca of repressed and repressive families, is shocked! shocked! to find out that bad parenting was going on in there. Prince Harry’s decision to talk about parenting — his experience of it and approach to it — on the Armchair Expert podcast has sent the firm and its frenemies in the tabloid press into a frenzy.

But the real issue is not that Harry discussed his relationship with his father or the fact that coldness permeates the parenting style of the royal family from top to bottom, it’s that he continues to unpick the devil’s bargain between the monarchy and tabloid press. It’s a deal that’s epitomised by the headline and sub-deck over pictures of William and Kate in yesterday’s Daily Mail:

Here’s how to do it, Harry!

William and Kate get stuck in with a day of play — and pets — for Mental Health Awareness Week…

On the previous page, the paper castigates Harry for choosing to “broadcast his pain again”. So there’s how you do it to get the approval of the tabloid press:

Don’t actually talk about mental health issues, just goon around for the cameras and make sure you tolerate The Mail on Sunday publishing creepy calendars full of pictures of your children. That’s the deal.

[Twitter avatar for @arusbridger

alan rusbridger

@arusbridger

Sometimes, when Prince Harry says sensible things (eg this morning about parenting), it would be nice if journalists discussed what he said rather than whether he has pissed off the Royals or Meghan put him up to it

May 14th 2021

866 Retweets6,723 Likes]

The quote that’s really angered the newspapers is not one you see plastered in the headlines or dropped into huge pull quotes. It’s the moment early on in the Armchair Expert episode when Harry says:

I used to be fearful of it. Now, it’s almost like the same groups of people that come at it so negatively or try to turn it against you or weaponise it, and therefore prevent so many millions of people from doing so, actually encourages me to speak out more… I’m going to be vulnerable, if I get attacked for it, let’s see who’s actually attacking me and what’s their story? What’s their agenda? Who do they work for?

The tabloids — and I do include The Daily Mail among their number — are particularly aggrieved because Harry is refuting their claim that he was ‘turned’ against them and the monarchy by Meghan. He says he wanted out long before he met her and that the British press was a huge cause of that:

It’s the job, right? Grin and bear it. Get on with it. I was in my early twenties and I was thinking, ‘I don’t want this job. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be doing this. Look what it did to my mum. How am I ever going to settle down and have a wife and family, when I know it’s going to happen again?’ I’ve seen behind the curtain, I’ve seen the business model, and seen how this whole thing works and I don’t want to be a part of this.

It’s those words that are driving the tabloids even more deranged than usual. The business of celebrity gossip — and royal reporting is just celebrity gossip about one family — requires the people playing the game to pretend there is no game.

In the most privileged professional wrestling ever, Prince Harry has broken kayfabe; he is consistently choosing to tell the story behind the story, to point at the paparazzi, the columnists, the palace flunkies, and the press barons and say, “Who are they working for? And what is their agenda?”

It’s one of the things a prince is categorically not allowed to do.

That’s why a softly spoken line about how he’s trying to be a different kind of parent than his own parents and grandparents becomes “a broadside”, “a bitter attack” and “a parenting bombshell” in the hands of the tabloids.

[Twitter avatar for @nazirafzal

nazir afzal

@nazirafzal

Having listened to Prince Harry on @ArmchairExpPod I urge you to ignore the faux Royalists (some might say Racists) who want to criticise him & through him their real target, Meghan

This is a man comfortable taking about mental health, masculinity & parenting

Essential listening Image

May 14th 2021

352 Retweets1,799 Likes]

Just look at how Harry’s words were trailed in yesterday’s Daily Mail:

Prince Harry yesterday launched another broadside at the Royal Family in which he appeared to suggest both his father and the Queen failed as parents.

But what did Prince Harry actually say? Well, substantial quotes — even then partial and cherry-picked — didn’t feature on the front page of the paper. You had to go digging inside to find them. Harry said:

“Isn’t life about breaking the cycle? there’s no blame. I don’t think we should be pointing the finger or blaming anybody. But…when it comes to parenting, I’ve experienced some form of pain or suffering because of the pain or suffering that perhaps my father or my parents had suffered…

… For me it comes down to awareness like I never, I never saw it, I never knew about it, and then suddenly I started to piece it all together and go, okay, so this is where he went to school, this is what happened, I know this bit about his life. I also know that’s connected to his parents, so that means that he’s treating me this way that he was treated which means, how can I change that for my own kids? And, well, here I am.”

It hardly reads as a broadside or a condemnation of his parents or grandparents. It comes across even less like that if you listen to the podcast to hear the tone of Harry’s words and place them within the context of the conversation. But context isn’t king for the tabloids, it’s not even allowed into the palace. Context lives out the back, milks the cows, and waits for a regime change.

In 1994, when Prince Charles was 46, 10 years old than Prince Harry is now, he spoke to Jonathan Dimbleby for an authorised biography and a notorious documentary. As The Independent reported at the time:

It is abundantly clear that Prince Charles did not feel the affect of a loving father and mother, and that he considers his parents, in the words of the child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim, to have been not 'good enough'.

Dimbleby, with Prince Charles's approval, accuses the Queen of being physically and emotionally distant. But his deepest anger is reserved for the Duke of Edinburgh, who is described as 'harsh', 'hectoring' and deeply irked by his son's solemn and over-sensitive nature.

Prince Charles blames his father for sending him to Gordonstoun, the Scottish public school, where he was beaten up, bullied and abused, and he accuses Prince Philip of forcing him into marriage with a woman he scarcely knew and never loved.

But with Prince Philip now dead, the Queen in her final years, and Prince Charles set to succeed her as King Charles, all that stuff is meant to be stuffed back into the wardrobe. The story is that Harry and Meghan are bad and William and Kate are good and anything that complicates that picture is ignored.

[Twitter avatar for @KaindeB

Resilient

@KaindeB

@brokenbottleboy This is Penny talking about Philip bullying Charles. 😳 Image

May 14th 2021

5 Retweets16 Likes]

So instead we get stories about how shocking! Prince Harry’s mild comments actually are and outraged stories from places like The Sun about swearing:

TURN THE HEIR BLUE

Prince Harry SWEARS on podcast as he asks Dax Shepard about ‘s*** load of drugs’ and ‘getting s*** done’

Yes, The Sun that leers over women daily and writes lasciviously about “romps” is too chickens*** to write the word “shit” out in full and pretends that the Royal Family themselves don’t swear like navvies when they’re in private.

Meanwhile, in The Daily Telegraph, Royal Family sources — the same family who forced Prince Harry to walk in public beside his mother’s coffin when he was just 12, remember — decry him for his “woeful lack of compassion”. And, of course, the issue of swearing is brought up:

And aside from the highly personal content, royal sources suggested that the family was disappointed by the foul language used during the expletive-strewn 90-minute interview.

There’s nothing but compassion in the interview, but focusing on the ‘rude’ words and implying criticisms that simply aren’t there is just part of the tabloid game. They are livid with Prince Harry for making it clear that the dirty deal with the press was a huge part of what made him leave.

It’s not that Prince Harry is talking that so angers the tabloids, but that he is talking about them and the things they do; that one of his examples of times he felt helpless is being in a car with his mother and being chased by paparazzi. Royals saying quotable things is part of “the business model” but royals talking frankly about the poisonous role of the British press in public life is not.

[Twitter avatar for @Jasamgurlie

BLACKLIVESMATTER

@Jasamgurlie

Yep, Meghan, The Duchess Of Sussex made him say it all. 😂

The way I can keep pulling out these clips… Image

May 14th 2021

71 Retweets304 Likes]

Sarah Vine, deploying the industrial-strength feigned ignorance which is one of her great superpowers as a columnist, wrote in The Daily Mail yesterday:

It’s clear now that Harry is someone who, for whatever reason, has come to loathe the very fabric of royal life and managed to convince himself, for all the privilege and status afforded him, his upbringing was a prolonged torture. And that is very sad and destructive…

… Far from exorcising his demons, Harry’s newfound freedom seems only to be feeding the monsters. He talks about his shoulders dropping and a weight lifting since he moved to America; but all the evidence seems to point to him becoming more, not less, unhappy.

As ever, it’s The Daily Mail delighting in gaslighting and a partial retelling of the facts, cutting itself and its rivals from the frame. What could possibly have made Prince Harry feel he was trapped in a golden cage? The media looks around and conveniently spies no mirrors. And, even if it was a cage, Sarah Vine argues, this songbird should have been grateful for the accommodation.

Curiously Vine and The Mail don’t include the section about it taking pictures of people’s children or when Prince Harry says…

…because of the way the UK media are they feel an ownership over you. Literally, a full-on ownership, and then they give an impression to… most of their readers that that is the case.

… your saying that the moment we step out of our house that it’s open season and free game, what because of public interest? There’s no public interest in you taking your kids for a walk down the beach.

… it’s this rabid feeding frenzy.

[Twitter avatar for @MsAlishia83

Alishia A

@MsAlishia83

Help me to understand why some of you all act like Prince Harry broke up with you personally.

May 13th 2021

309 Retweets2,793 Likes]

I’m a republican — I don’t believe the UK should have a monarchy at all — so I don’t believe the golden cage should exist. But while it does, the tabloids benefit from it and they cannot allow anyone to get away with disparaging the system. They exist not to criticise it but to defend it and feed on it.

Prince Harry cannot ‘be normal’ now or simply shut up because even if he did, the tabloid press would not respect that silence. They would tell their own stories of why he wasn’t speaking, filling the void with fictions and half-truths. In talking about parenting and pain — even from the extraordinarily unusual situation he finds himself in — Harry will help others.

And while he’s a little too fond of Californian therapy speak, the fact that he’s talking about how we can parent differently to the way our parents or grandparents did it is an unquestionably good thing.

If you only read his words pushed through the prism of the tabloid press, you’ll think he was ranting and raving about his families failings but actually, he’s saying — he knows they did their best but he wants to do better for his own children. In the abnormal world of the royals, that’s one of the most normal things anyone has said in ages…

you were talking the other day on here ab how you didn’t like that a few fans were acting entitled on twitter and if it continues it could make us looks obnoxious, and i 100% agree, and would just like to add, i know that it’s a common thing in fandoms to call a ship who isn’t canon yet husband as wife, but idk i find it disrespectful when ppl use that micro/david scene to be like “yeah see frank views karen as his wife” bc i really think they’re perceiving that scene wrong, n i don’t like 1/2

some ppl act like maria never existed for the sake of shipping kastle. you can love and mourn the relationship frank had with maria while still loving kastle as a ship. maybe it’s not that deep but it always irks me to see, and maybe not so much on private posts, but on tagged posts to the cast and the official account, it makes us look like the kind of fandom who doesn’t care ab plot and just cares ab the ship, when most of us love maria n that relationship. idk ok that’s my rant 2/2

I agree with a lot of this!! 

the whole “so is Karen” thing like no Frank wasn’t calling Karen his wife obviously. he’s calling her his family. and family doesn’t mean platonic necessarily either but I think saying Frank was calling Karen his wife is a bit of a reach imo lmao. he was making a point to David that Karen is as important to him as Sarah is to David. 

I think a large majority of kastle shippers love Maria and respect and understand the relationship he had with her and that he will always love her and probably never love anyone as much as he did her again and will always mourn her and no one can replace her etc... but I have seen a few tweets about that bug me. and it sometimes will then make it look like all shippers are like that which I hate haha.

it does bother me to an extent in general how people tag actors in EVERYTHING. absolutely everything kastle related. I think imo, talk about whatever you want kastle related!! it’s your blog my man. but the tagging of actors and even more to me, show runners and stuff, constantly non stop, is excessive. don’t flood them with this stuff. show appreciation for the characters on their own and for the writing and the other characters as well too :) 

Why It Is Fun To Hate Taylor Swift

1. She writes songs about her past loves that are not always so subtle about who they are about. 

     People see this as offensive to men in the media they are fans of or in general because it is an invasion of some sort into the private lives of the men. People also see it as “whiny” and “annoying,” and “can she please just write about anything else?” Those men she writes about? Most of them, if they are artists, write or sing about love and their own personal relationships themselves. That’s not an invasion? Also, Taylor is invading her OWN personal life in order to release pent up feelings, free herself, and also let her listeners know that she relates to them. The more personal and less subtle, the more we can relate. Secrets and songs that are not on a deep personal level from an actual real experience just aren’t that relatable, and in my experience, don’t really help me when I’m going through something deep and personal. Relationships are not all she writes about. She has written about friendships (Fifteen), her mother (The Best Day), forgiveness (Innocent), a dying boy (Ronan), and even about her being the one doing wrong in a relationship (Back To December). People like Adele (literally every album, but more explicitly Someone Like You), Ed Sheeran (also every album, but more explicitly Don’t), and Justin Bieber (Sorry) don’t get criticism in this way. Why is that? If she is whiny and annoying, why are you listening to her? More importantly, why are you talking about her? Focus on people you actually can relate to and enjoy listening to. 

2. All she does is date. She jumps from guy to guy like it’s nothing.

       This goes along with the first and I think this is a super silly and played out thing for people to say about Miss Swift. Find something original. But even my mother says it. The media, including something as simple as the morning news or newspaper, has drilled it all into our heads as a “fact.” It’s not, though: http://taylorswift.wikia.com/wiki/List_of_Taylor_Swift%27s_ex-boyfriends. She is 27 going on 28. Eight seem like a very normal amount. She also has not dated one guy after another, unless you count Tom Hiddleston only weeks after her and Calvin Harris’ split, which I don’t, considering it’s one time and everyone has done something similar at some point. I am 21. I can tell you that I have dated much more than 8 men. No one is calling me out for it. It is NORMAL. More importantly, if all the men she has dated, and continues to date, obviously know about her reputation as a dater, then why do men keep dating her? If they know “she’s just going to write a song about them,” then why do they do it? Why are they not called out for it? Why is no one blamed but the woman the way women are always blamed? If it is just for publicity for themselves, then that is even more pathetic. Sounds like sexism to me. 

3. She’s fake.

       This really means “she’s too nice.” It’s as simple as that and you all know it. She acts humble when she receives an award, all of her interviews are her smiling and happy, she compliments people regularly, she donates to charity, she visits sick children and people in hospitals, she sends personal gifts to her fans, she defends everyone involved in the music making process and their right to be paid fairly, she is a supporter of all women and is open about this in all of her actions including her “squad,” etc, etc. She wants everyone to like her and she has cared about that up until her 1989 album. Her wanting everyone to like her has led her to mistakenly say things she didn’t mean. In a short twitter disagreement I’m sure some of you are aware of, Nicki calls out MTV for being racist and not including enough nominations or awards for those of color and different body types, and in the midst of this calls out videos nominated with slim women while the only other nomination including much women was Taylor’s. Taylor tweets Nicki saying “I’ve done nothing but love & support you. It’s unlike you to pit women against each other” and “If I win, please come up with me!! You’re invited to any stage I’m ever on.” Clearly she missed the point and later tweets Nicki “I thought I was being called out. I missed the point, I misunderstood, then misspoke. I’m sorry, Nicki.”  http://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/pop-shop/6641794/taylor-swift-nicki-minaj-twitter-argument-timeline  If you’re not a fan of Taylor or even hate her, you might have seen this as her being just another white girl with white privilege who doesn’t know her place. Clearly, she is a white girl with privilege who, in this moment, was forgetting that she had this privilege, as many white people do. You forget that it’s not about joining someone up on stage, it’s about fighting for that person of color’s right to win and be the leader of the fight. You have to take yourself out of it and realize that if you are being called out in this way, it isn’t to be malicious, it is shine light on a problem in our society. Taylor missed this point because she is constantly trying to build up girls and women, and also in the fight against the media and haters who are always calling her out and hating on her for every little thing. I think her being called fake is purely because she has been in the limelight a long time and she is obviously trying to be nice to everyone at all times. That irks people. On a personal level, my own boyfriend told me that I irk people purely because I go out of my way to be nice: “your being too nice is frustrating and makes it seem like you can’t be a real person. A real person is mean sometimes.” Maybe that’s the same reason for Taylor, who knows.

4. She plays the victim. She lies.

       I’m putting these two together because I honestly barely understand why they are reasons. Is the victim thing because of her singing about being hurt in relationships? Is it because of the Kim & Kanye debacle or just all celebrity riffs? The only other riffs I can think of are with Calvin Harris and Katy Perry. Possibly some with women who were in her “squad” and now are not. I covered the relationships thing but the Katy thing? Seems kind of silly and the only one who has addressed it is Katy. She is the only one who has spoken semi-openly about it, as well as Calvin Harris. I feel Bad Blood is too strong of a song to be written about Katy. Plus, we all have had multiple friendships that have ended in a bad way but that doesn’t really mean we need to hate either person for it, especially since we are not even a part of that relationship and there were no actual confirming words on Taylor’s part. Calvin Harris is… honestly, I never cared for him. From his snapchats before dating Taylor Swift, he always seemed really immature. Taylor used a fake, Swedish name for “This Is What You Came For” just so that he would receive the spotlight alone and probably because he wanted to be immature and petty, she decided to say that she helped write it, which is rightful of her to do so. He was clearly petty like I thought he would be and went on a twitter rant while she sat back and didn’t say a word. Maybe that’s why she is viewed as playing the victim? Because she barely says anything and when she does, she apparently never takes the blame. This is obviously not true considering instances like her apology to Nicki. Also, her alleged song about Kanye (Innocent) with lyrics like “who you are is not what you did.” One more small example: Back To December, allegedly for Taylor Lautner with lyrics like “so this is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying I’m sorry for that night.” Doesn’t seem victim-like to me. Next, she gets the trademark as a “liar” and a “snake.” This is because of ONE instance–the Kanye video where Taylor agrees to a line and later says she never agreed to it in Kanye’s Famous: “Me and Taylor might still have sex…I made that bitch famous.” Before I get into that, if anyone remembers, Kanye embarrassed and interrupted Taylor’s grammy win in 2009 because he felt someone else deserved it more. Whether he was wrong or not, that was extremely disrespectful and a really painful memory for her. Then at the 2015 MTV Video Music Awards Taylor makes light of it with a joke, says kind words about Kanye, and graciously presents him with the Video Vanguard Award. Then came the lyric he wanted approved. If you’ve heard the video where she actually approves it (http://variety.com/2016/music/news/taylor-swift-kanye-kim-kardashian-video-snapchat-famous-lyrics-1201816146/), Taylor ONLY APPROVES THE LINE “Me and Taylor might still have sex,” NOT “I made that bitch famous.” Taylor found it extremely misogynistic and also unfounded considering, she was accepting a VMA when he interrupted her, so clearly she was already famous before then. Even if she did approve the entire line or whatever, it is still misogynistic and it is still a dumb thing to hate Taylor for. That is between Taylor and Kanye. Taylor wouldn’t have been doing anything cruel. The cruel part will always be on Kanye’s side. She just would have been helping that along if she approved all of it. But Kanye, as well as many rappers, is known for his misogynistic lyrics. For no one to call out this 40-year old as immature and cruel is ridiculous, while Taylor gets called out for lying. Really? We all lie. We don’t all bash women in songs that play on the radio for all of our children to hear. 

So, for all of you out there who want to and certainly will continue to hate Taylor Swift for whatever reason, please feel free to let me know what it is you hate about her that I didn’t mention above. 

As much as you hate Taylor Swift, realize that those powers of hate can be used for so much good. Maybe shift to hating white supremacists, racists, neo-nazis, homophobes, and misogynists. 

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/social-qs-how-can-i-save-my-workaholic-boyfriend-from-himself/

Social Q’s: How Can I Save My Workaholic Boyfriend From Himself?

I’ve been with my boyfriend for a year. Occasionally, he goes into deep panics about his work and cancels plans — and not just with me. He cancels dinners with friends and important doctors’ appointments, holidays with his family and trips we’ve booked months in advance. I love him, and want to be compassionate about his panic and his work. But some plans are important to me. We’re supposed to visit my family soon, and he’s already threatening to cancel. He says: Everything will fall apart if he goes away. What can I do?

ANONYMOUS

I hate to break it to you, but there are some problems that even a loving girlfriend (and a well-meaning advice columnist) can’t fix. I am concerned about your boyfriend’s “deep panics” and doubtful that our civilian assistance will be a big help.

In my 300 years of working, I have encountered two main types of people who just can’t step away from their desks. The first is the egotists who really believe that things will go to wrack and ruin if they’re not there to supervise. They’re irreplaceable (in their own minds). This doesn’t sound like your boyfriend, though. Superiority doesn’t often lead to panic.

The second group is larger in my experience (and, sadly, includes me): workers who lack confidence, and fear that all of their imagined errors and incompetence will come to light the second they clock out. Panic makes sense if you truly believe, however incorrectly, that you’re about to be exposed as an impostor and possibly fired.

Planning ahead can help. Encourage your boyfriend to ask a trusted co-worker to keep an eye on his projects while he’s away. But the only thing that’s worked for me, I’m afraid, is talking with a therapist about why I suspect I’m not good enough. If he may be open to this option, suggest it gently. Otherwise, get used to traveling alone.

Image

CreditChristoph Niemann

Gender Reveal? Come On, It’s 2019

My cousin got married recently. I’m happy for him. I was even a groomsman at his wedding. Now his wife is pregnant, which is also great news. But they’re going very heavy on the gender-reveal craze, which irks me. As a queer person, I disagree strongly with it: It reinforces a binary idea of gender, and erases transgender and intersex people. How can I express my discomfort? I’m finding it hard to embrace their good news when I disagree so strongly with their approach.

MIKE

You make a sensitive point, Mike. I respect it. But when the baby-industrial complex (which is huge) intersects with the untrammeled excitement of first-time parents and online over-share culture, a gender reveal is a natural, albeit cheesy and overdramatic, result. (And boy, is it popular.)

Of course, “gender reveal” is a misnomer. The most that ultrasounds show is sex at birth, not the ultimate gender identity or sexuality of an actual person. Can you focus on the mislabeling here? Maybe even point it out lightly to the future parents?

I would rather you save your energy for supporting your new cousin than squabble over the theory of a dumb party. True, the current information about the baby’s gender is incomplete, but it’s not nothing either. It rarely pays to pour cold water on the joy of others. And if you’re still uncomfortable, refuse the invitation nicely.

Oh. You Weren’t Supposed to Hear That.

My adult family and I went to dinner at an Italian trattoria. When the owner led us to a table near a family with bouncy children, I asked, in Italian, if he could seat us someplace quieter. He did. After we were seated, the woman from the table with children came up to me and said: “Don’t worry. We’ll be leaving soon.” She had clearly heard and understood me. I think she crossed a social boundary. You?

A.

Presumably, you wanted to avoid offending this woman by requesting a quieter table in a language she wouldn’t understand. (In my view, there would be nothing wrong with making this request in plain-old English.) Sadly, though, you chose a language that she (and millions of others) understand. She simply put you on notice that your secret code is not so secret. Was it teensy bit aggressive? Sure. But no worse than assuming you’re the only person worldly enough to speak Italian.

R.I.P. My Sister-Inflicted Pain

My older sister died at 86. Her memorial service will be held soon. I would like to tell those assembled how cruel my sister was to me for my entire life. I feel it would be extremely cathartic for me. My husband is begging me to keep still. You?

J.J.

Here’s to emphatic agreement with your husband! When people say, “Funerals are for the living,” they don’t mean in order to trash-talk the dead. Your plan could really hurt some of your sister’s survivors. Write a frank letter to her, instead, and keep it with your private papers. Not to be a goody two shoes about this, but there may also be catharsis in acknowledging her cruelty to you and forgiving her for it.

For help with your awkward situation, send a question to [email protected], to Philip Galanes on Facebook or @SocialQPhilip on Twitter.

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Random

It seems witches are replacing the mermaid craze in trend lemming chicks. All this bru-hahah! And oh, lemme insert this into a band name! It’s timeless! Y’ok! Suddenly the “Craft,” movie has a new following. It seems everyone is so pre-occupied in being someone else. Everyone, anyone seems like a better alternative, right?!

Oh, let me just pretend I’m a Dodo bird or any other extinct or mythical creature! Unicorns are the new snowflakes. Every upcycle on pop trends just irks me. When will it be “cool,” to care and be a kind human being?! When will people examine their lives and arrive at reasons for their being. It seems I walk next to a centaur fused with a platypus and whatever new item that raises people’s heads up from their phones. Oh but I don’t. People just push their version of, “shock value,” for a double take, a head turn, anything selfie-able to record somewhere in someone’s mind, how “unique,” they are. How about we go back to how common kindness should be !? Be unique in doing it! Make a twitter account for Kindness and create a crowd fund account and always pay into it!? That’s timeless! That’s sexy! So popularize it! 

Today is Mexican Mother’s Day (5/10/17). I miss my Mom. We’ve had a conflictual relationship all my life but I think Menopause helped her to calm down somewhat. Today is the only day that I’m cool with chicks calling me a Mamacita (Hot girl who is not a Mother, it’s also said in other contexts but not today). My Mom put me in private school and what I take away from my Christian education is the missionary work. I really enjoyed helping to feed orphans in Tijuana and that’s where my kind (my tribe) of kind started. I later built homes in Americorps for Habitat for Humanity, feed the Homeless on my home front, made military care packages, tithed and raised money for underdeveloped countries and missionary scholarships. My Mom instilled in me that no matter how much you have, someone will always have less and to humble myself and be grateful for the clean water, electricity, food and miscellaneous add ons that I have. 

I used to be into fashion and was very creative with textiles (my grandma was a seamstress and my uncle a fashion designer in L.A). I used to spend money frivolously on fine dining, clothes, technology and travel. I don’t really care about those things anymore. They lost their luster. I still see the appeal to it but I’m more transfixed on souls now. Being a Christian, we always strived to improve and be as “Christ like,” as possible. Now I see it as, the best version of ourselves, our highest good. I never like to ask for money but I was required to for a suicide prevention event I’m volunteering for. I put my goal at a meager $25 and two donors advanced me at reaching my goal at 240% I cried. I cried because I do not ask for help because I feel I have to be self sufficient and because people have let me down more times than my heart is willing to forget and then a stranger gives and a friend I am not close to. That friend was with me on the few times I wanted to commit suicide, myself so it just added to my flow of tears. 

In just writing this, I am remembering how much God has blessed me and even though I feel victimized very often (latest is someone breaking into our rent drop box to steal resident checks and my co-worker reaching into my bag and stealing my medical gloves and grinching the gloves from their designated box), I need to remember that he has always stood in to protect me. Like clockwork, the moon lines up to my moon (my menses) and my emitted pheromones run very high. Past lovers contact me and guys (even from their cars) cat call and try their primitive mating tactics on me. 

I had a blog here 4 years ago and I learned of nympho ninjas through here and well, tumblr is mainly used in that way now; for porn but that’s not what NN is. A friend from L.A had made mention that my hyperlink to my tumblr on my Instagram was broken and when was I going to re-activate it again? Since I’ve felt the need to get a lot off my bouncing Bust! I re-activated one. I didn’t think anyone but that friend who see this because IG is like a scroll of picture slideshow. I mean, who visits the page unless they want to add you?! Well, my old spirit guide did and was offended. He didn’t like me taking up tantra with someone new. I’ve had 2 tantric twins. Tantra transcendence is not something you go into, it calls you and it originally did not involve sexual involvement. You can’t carry it out with just anyone. I communicate with him in ESP like that handful of other individuals I have this ability with. I was upset at first because I felt like he was making my blog about him. I’m not writing to anyone. It’s dead air or space and I have typos and just write as fast as I think it. Still, I feel compelled to go to a different blog hosting site like word press or something. I’m censored on FB by my Mom and family. I can’t post just anything on IG bc I have my sister-in-law and some co-workers on there. I just wanted to have a platform where I could freely not be filtered. I’m kind of over Instagram now that everyone and their Mom is on there. I kind of liked it when I had it more to myself. I stumbled on, “Ello,” and I think I might dwell there instead. Sometimes going against the grain feels better. When too many have caught on to what you’ve been a part of for years, I just want to let it go, let them have it and start anew, somewhere else. 

I feel a little weird with the amount of people from my past that I was in contact with today. I texted my ex husband after 7 months of no contact. It was refreshing that his response was as I expected. That guy always had a way of creating levity in darkness. I miss the me (not all aspects but, the merriment of our adventure back then) I was with him and I miss a few former flames often enough. I used to feel this way about my brothers when they took up partners but then they had children and now I don’t miss my childhood with them so much because it extended through their kids. My Mom said that she told my 3 y.o nephew that his tia (aunt) came to visit him. He didn’t register that she meant past tense so he roamed the halls shouting for me, looking around each bend. That melted my heart. I have immense, unconditional love for my twin nieces and nephew. To them, I am a fun, taller child who plays piano, takes them on park outings in the radio flyer, stacks lincoln logs and legos with them, plays hide and go seek (under their game changer rules). I do these activities with them but even in stillness when they rest on my lap and I read or when they eat in their high chair and I feed, they stop and look at me and smile. They see my soul and they are tender in a hiccup laugh that follows. Their little hands reach for mine because they think they’re the strongest, they look at me and think I’m perfect, that I’m important and they see my arms as strong enough to hold them but gentle enough to sway their discomfort away.  They see in me what I don’t see in myself and still I gravitate toward them, not for the appraisal within those actions, but because I love them for no reason and they love me without reason. Neither of us have to, we just do. 

The Disney, “Dumbo,” clip, “Baby Mine,” song always makes me a blubbering mess over it. Since first viewing it, at 4, the Circus was not something I wanted to patronize and my affinity of elephants expanded from there. I used to have an ele-friend. I don’t now. I just realized how therapeutic these entries have been. It’s as if I’ve fast tracked my suffocated down tears to flow again. I think I’ve cried at some point with every entry. For some reason, this medium is where I’m being called to be in and since I don’t want to offend people, I will vacate premise and take up a new home (undisclosed) but I just need to keep doing this. I need to keep writing from my soul. It recalibrates me. For these, I’m not a grammar girl, my run ons and inappropriate placements of punctuation and typos go, anything goes! I’m not a victim of “Forced PC,” here. I can accept my thoughts as I read them and that’s the only affirmation and validation I need. This is a film projector for me and the reel is my writing. Here, I am me and readers don’t have to like it, they can back off my blog. It’s not that I’m bullied to leave. I think I may be exposing myself too much if people I know really are visiting this. They don’t know these thought patterns or sides to me. I don’t owe anything to my old spirit guide. Maybe it’s because I’m tired or (insert whatever other speculation here) but I just don’t give a fuck anymore. I’m not saying “No more nice girl,” or no to being nice. That stays. I’m saying that I don’t care anymore. To the person who texted me that has this link, No! I don’t want to fuck you! It’s been a year and 1/2 and it was once and it was not what I had in mind. You: “What happened to our friendship and love?” “I miss going out for Rocky Road ice cream at 2 am!” Me: “You were more of an acquaintance, there was no love.” I pined for you 3 years before that and you were, “too cool,” and then through the course of time, I realized who you were and was turned off. You’re 24! Just go away! 

I don’t read these intrapsychic interferences like a radar, more like an EKG that I want to go flatline. To Daniel Son, DAAAAMMMNNN Daniel! I don’t have to know where I stand with you and vice versa. It doesn’t matter anymore. There was a lot of destruction that can’t be undone and I don’t have energy for trying anything with anyone anymore. My time is my own. I don’t even have energy for the last person I loved. The only thing I show up for now are my nieces and nephews. Even though they’re energy consumers, they synergistically give me life. We mutually enliven each other. That’s the only love concerning me right now (not that it’s any of your business). I don’t owe you an explanation but there is one that’s beyond your interpretation. I’m not boy crazy. I can say I miss my past but I don’t carve out time for it in my present. I move in upward strokes like the salmon. I write about it because it lessens the experience that it was and I let go more and more, each time. I welcome in the new positivity that will take over and I rid of past strife. 

Yeah, I’m not a fan of lurkers, stalkers, trolls and voyeurs and in just knowing there’s an audience, it creates this bias, as if I’m writing for a show. “On the next season of Melissa’s life...” Yeah, fuck that noise! I’m not a bitch, I might be numb and apathy might be setting in but I think I need to remain in that state for a while. I feel too intensely that it burns out. I live between the polarity of loving/caring too much and just not giving a fuck. I don’t have a middle ground right now. I’m a little scattered and kind of secretly wish that Scooby Doo Fred would give me a hug and haunt me again. He was the last person I was with that felt to the same intensity and frequency, what I did but the hug would be more for him. I’m not boy crazy, I just feel small sometimes in the vast infinity continuum that is my head. I don’t have the headspace for half the shit that tools around in there and half less the heart space for it. Because of this, sometimes my heart time travels to bookmarks, saving the place where I was held and felt safe and saw them as perfect.

My heart is cold like an ice cave, the arteries stalagmites. My feelings are frostbitten. I am making this period of time what I need it to be for me. I will unlearn, like the magic of oxytocin allows. I will live out goals from my heart center (love list). My days are great but more will fuse on and in plural, they will be great again. When I am open, I will love again and my soulmate will be as ready for me as I him. There is a voice in me that hears all the collective compliments I’ve received on my eloquence in writing, my skill at it and in a small way, it make me feel big. 

Love is fluid. My friend told me today, “I need to fully love myself!” I replied, “I don’t think that’s a thing, I mean you can’t be yourself 24/7 and your needs change and you adapt to the wave forecast that is the ocean of life!” She wrote back, “Oh, that’s true!” I don’t know if anyone is fully themselves at any given time, given our influences. I just feel that we do have an authentic self and an ideal self and we tend to overlap the two in balance but more commonly live in one domain and it’s usually the “ideal self,” (this is not who you are but who you project yourself to be, some traits can carry over but it’s not really you). The authentic self is something every philosopher and abstract thinker has pondered on. Ben Franklin says, “There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond and to know one’s self.”

I like the girl on her bike, she’s badass, I like the girl with the cat, Neechee, the girl who takes on challenges and new adventures, the girl who pays into her health through many fields and avenues, the girl who loves wholeheartedly, even with the risk of non reciprocation. I love the girl in me who is a feminist and brave the boys in ways most girls don’t step up to. I love the girl in me who feels energies and can measure aura’s and determine whether the person is spirit decayed. I love the bookworm girl who sways on her hammock with a page turner and is transported there, bringing life to the text. I love the girl who is a woman but feels mostly like a girl because she is playful, witty, funny and kind with that girl like innocence. I love the woman in me that can be a woman but also an archer and tap into my divine femininity. I love the hips that can gyrate into figure eights and undulate in belly dance. I love my legs that choreograph my steps and out dance the floor mass, I love my arms that extend warm embraces and contain. I love the lips that feel around taste like a blind man in the dark and land on bliss. I love my kaleidoscope eyes that can transfix on fire and subdue men. I love my sexual parts too. I love my sensitive breasts that comfort with their volume and surrender to stimulation. I love my bowed bottom that is positioned below my Aphrodite dimples. I love my dendrite, pulse point and erogenous zones. I love me on a cellular level, not all the time and not all at once but in this roll call, I see the snapshot and I do love me from the inside out and I keep this in mind daily. I may not fully love myself because I don’t think one can fully know one self but I’m working on continuing as a love luminary and knowing that I can be all these adjectives and more but when I can love myself for no reason, perhaps I have loved fully.