#(which could completely be solved if he stopped traveling the entire length of the city to meow outside our door)

[queershakespeare]

i love you stupid cat who thinks he still lives at our house and keeps on running away from his perfectly lovely owners to make anguished yowls outside our side door (yes you're cute but you also have fleas so you're not coming in sorry dude)

[2manyfandoms2count]

Golden hour

I felt very indulgent today and decided to write some pure fluff. Caution: contains Shanghai special spoilers! Mostly Ladynoir, but also a bit of Marichat because yes.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

Chat Noir had to ask. He knew that there was a risk he would get caught out on his little lie, but hey. Even if they said curiosity killed the cat, the key part was that satisfaction brought it back.

“Hey, Bugaboo?” He lazily opened an eye and turned slightly towards her.

She hummed in reply, revelling in the warm evening sun.

She’s so pretty, Chat thought as he looked at her. Seeing her lying there so peacefully in the golden sunset, it was really hard to resist the itch to update his profile picture of Ladybug (and maybe, who knows, his phone background).

They’d both finished their ice cream a while ago, but neither of them had felt like leaving just yet. Basking in the last lights of a warm Summer day after a quiet patrol at the top of the Eiffel Tower, with the Champs de Mars on one side and the Seine on the other was exactly the kind of holiday each wanted. Especially if it was with the person they’d never get tired of sitting in complete silence with, even if they wouldn’t necessarily admit it out loud.

Ladybug shifted a little and Chat Noir cleared his throat, afraid that she’d catch him staring. His quiet admiration had almost made him forget his question.

“How long did it end up taking you to fly back from Shanghai?”

Her eyes flew open and for a second she looked like a deer caught in headlights, but it could have just been an adjustment to the light. Her cheeks were red when she propped herself on her elbow to face him, although it was hard to tell if it was a blush or the beginning of a sunburn.

“I’m not entirely sure, it must have been something like…” Ladybug’s brain whirred as it tried to grasp at an elusive physics class that might have held a ballpark answer. She knew that with the magic of the suits, even making a detour via the poles (mince, had she said she’d take the Arctic or the Antartic route? Did it matter? Why hadn’t she looked it up like she’d meant to-) was probably shorter than the average flight length. “Four hours? More or less?” She cringed a little as she waited for his reaction.

The latter turned out to be a squint, as Chat Noir tried to gauge if his own calculations had been entirely wrong, or if she was bluffing. Given that it took a plane a little more than twelve hours to fly back, he could see a detour via the Arctic possibly taking just as long. The powerup was pretty fast though, probably more in the rocket-speed range, so the travel time would have been significantly less. If the physics exercises he’d solved in class, which listed said speed to be around five thousand kilometers per hour, could be trusted, it cut it to about two hours, assuming there were no pit stops along the way. The Antarctic route would obviously be longer, given that Shanghai was, all in all, quite high above the Equator; he would have said it was probably a six hour flight at least.

Her time was therefore either too long or too short, and one question remained; which route had she said she’d take again?...

He saw her fidgeting increase with the length of his silence.

“It could have been six hours, though. Or twelve? Really, I don’t recall exactly, I forgot to look at a clock because it’s not like we have watches with our suits, you know?” She chuckled nervously as she tried backtracking and suddenly it dawned on him.

“You didn’t fly back, did you?” he asked softly, and her lack of response spoke volumes. “You had to go back and check on Marinette, and then you figured you’d stay a bit.”

It would explain the lack of patrol calls he’d gotten during the remainder of his short stay in Shanghai, when there’d been so many since he’d come back. She’d probably returned around the same time he had. He wondered if they’d crossed paths as civilians while walking around the city. Had he known she was there, he would’ve kept an eye out for anyone who looked vaguely familiar. Someone he could’ve seen in Paris as well. Maybe Marinette could have helped him.

She gave him a curious look, but then nodded along sheepishly. “How did you know?”

“It’s just the kind of thing you do,” he smiled. “Also, it would’ve been a little irresponsible for you to make the round trip within a day, especially after having fought two major Akumas. Not to mention a real shame, because Shanghai is quite lovely.”

“Are you saying you didn’t fly back either?” She nudged him with her elbow. “It’s not like you weren’t a part of those fights, too, and you talk about the city like you know it quite well.” She didn’t mention the fact that he would’ve had an extra reason to stay over, given that he’d actually been hit by the Akuma. She didn’t want to dampen the mood.

It was Chat’s turn to fidget a little. “Oh no, I definitely flew back, it’s just that, erm, well… oh! I arrived before you, remember? So it wasn’t so bad to fly back so soon afterwards, I’d had a bit of a break while I was looking for Marinette. And that’s when I did a little sightseeing, too. Our suits are really perfect for tourism, having access to the roofs helps prevent getting lost!”

“That’s true.” She smiled at his enthusiasm, thankful that he wasn’t pushing the topic any further. “Actually, speaking of Marinette… I wanted to thank you. I’m not sure how you found out that she was missing, but the fact that you flew out to help her…” She couldn’t express how much it meant to her, not without saying too much. She hoped that he would read in between the lines though, even if he thought it was just that she appreciated his dedication to helping out Parisians. Ever since she’d gotten her Guardian duties, she felt like things were changing in her life; it was subtle, but the ground was starting to feel shaky under her feet, and she wasn’t sure it was completely linked to the start of the summer and the end of collège. It was nice to know that Chat Noir was still here for her with or without the mask, even if he didn’t know it.

“It’s only natural. I would’ve done it for any civilian…” he started, and her shoulders slumped a little, even though it was to be expected. She perked back up when he leaned forward and continued in a confidential tone: “... but if I’m being honest, if there’s one civilian I’d drop everything for, it would be Marinette.”

She felt her cheeks warm and couldn’t repress the smile that spread on her lips. “Oh?”

“Well, she’s just such a valuable part of our team, even if you don’t use her potential much,” he gave her a pointed look. “And, well, it’s not like I know a lot about her,” he scratched the back of his head, “but one thing I do know is that she’s a very good friend, and just a very… solar person in general. She just radiates kindness and warmth, you know? And I… heard someone called her an everyday Ladybug once, and it’s a really good description. If everyone had a Marinette in their life, I think Akumatisation rates would probably plummet.”

Ladybug gulped at the compliment, which just seemed to come so easily to him. “Well, thank you.”

Chat Noir glanced at her and noticed her fluster. He leaned a little closer to her, eyes glinting mischievously and nudged her lightly. “My Lady, are you jealous of Marinette? Because you know I’d also say all these things about you if I knew who was behind the mask. You’d absolutely become the first civilian I’d drop everything for.”

“As if.” She nudged him back with a fond smile. “Silly kitty.”

She lied back down, and as he mirrored her, she scooted closer to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. It was the best thing she could think of to thank him at that moment, even though she knew she’d be working overtime to find a proper gift to give him from Marinette.

Yes, her little holiday in Shanghai with Adrien had been nice, of course it had; but to paraphrase Dorothy, there was just no place like home. And this was exactly what this place felt like.

[faean]

Endeavor x G. Neutral Reader x Hawks

Requested by: Anonymous

Rating: T+; Language and Sexual References/Innuendos

Word Length: 2072

Title: Villains... Or you two?

           “Of course, sir, I’ll head straight over there.” I hang up, putting my phone in my pocket as I leave the coffee shop.

           So, the flame head finally had an epiphany, I think to myself. These past few weeks have been, strenuous, to say the least. Working with heroes guaranteed an interesting time, and I welcomed getting to know some of them personally.

           Not this time.

           I was paired with two of the top three heroes here in Musutafu, and I still cannot decide who got on my nerves more. Was it Endeavor and his blinding ambition? Or perhaps Hawks with his cringe-inducing arrogance? To be fair, I could look past such… qualities, if not for one particular reason that has made me regret becoming a Private Investigator.

           The two heroes flirted with me, unabashedly, ever since they requested to work with me on a cold case that was re-opened after 23 years. Quite obviously, this has led to numerous issues.

           One- We are on a case and must be professional. Which they regularly ‘forget’.

           Two- I have a decade on Hawks, and the gap was even larger between Endeavor and me.

           Three- They were willing to share me.

           Four- I am quirkless, and I did not become the best PI in the world just to be catered by these two.

           Five- That’s about it, but I wanted to hit a nice number to end on. So…

           Getting in my car, I make no effort to speed to the meeting location where Endeavor would share his findings with myself, Hawks, and the small police squad I was given charge of by the Chief of Police; who happens to be a good friend.

           Now, it may appear that I am indifferent about this case, but truth be told, I had solved it days ago. However, my ‘partners’ were reluctant to let me investigate on my own and had convinced the chief to ‘give us time to consolidate the evidence and prepare for a raid.’

           Apparently, the threat was ‘too great a risk’ for Japan’s best PI to take on alone; despite having crossed paths with the League of Villains multiple times during other investigations, arresting several of its members and still completing the task I was hired to do. All while being quirkless, those love-struck fools.

           Nevertheless, I listened to my superiors, ready to save their asses when the time inevitably comes for a confrontation… that they use for showboating.

           Arriving at a warehouse that was a secret meeting place for law enforcement, I stroll through the metal door, greeting a few colleagues as I made my way to the front of the group. With a stern look, I urge Endeavor to share his ‘findings’, ignoring Hawks’ flirting. Neither hero was perturbed by my blatant disregard for their advances, and Hawks was content with looking up into my eyes (being several inches taller than normal had its advantages; this was not one of them) as Endeavor spoke in his usual proud tone.

           “After much consideration and deliberation, we have deduced the location of the criminal organization that has been feeding vital intel to the League of Villains. After this brief, we will suit up and take action. Now…”

           Having lost interest in his droning, and not wanting to listen to Hawks comments, I let my mind wander on the multiple high-profile villains that were associated with this case. Over two decades ago, these few villains had banded together and wreaked havoc in northern Europe. After being discovered, they scattered, establishing small safehouses for information gathering, always in touch.

           I had been working on the case for nearly a year since learning of it, traveling everywhere, calling in favors. I had soon discovered that many of the safehouses had been sabotaged by an anonymous source, which I traced back to my home city in Japan; where the same villains had gathered once more to join forces with the League.

           They were, indeed, not be underestimated, having sold out several allies for personal benefit. Even after 23 years, there was little doubt that age would be a factor in the coming battle; after all, if they could handle an entire nation’s efforts at stopping them, they could certainly hold their own with a small task force. If that task force didn’t consist of specially trained officers, two pro heroes, and the best damn PI in the world.

           “You all know your roles, we leave in 15.”

           Endeavor had finished detailing the mission, and I took the opportunity to head to my car to suit up, having acquired numerous ‘resources’ over the years; many of which were standard issue, but specially fitted and adapted to me alone. It was for the best, as my fighting style sort of required me to stay adaptable, which helped when facing down those with quirks.

           My quiet time didn’t last, unfortunately, as it dawned on me that I was to ride with Endeavor and Hawks… Silently cursing myself for not having my motorbike, as that would mean the two would have to share the sidecar, which would be a hilarious sight-gag, I got into the driver seat and awaited their arrival.

           With a few minutes to spare, I put on a playlist I made to help me relax, while simultaneously pumping me up for a fight. Admittedly, a lot of it was from an animated show I adore; you know, ‘It’s also a gun!’

           While listening to the music, my mind began to wander, and I hesitantly entertained the idea of possibly allowing a single date with the two heroes. If we weren’t trying to save the city, and they at least tried to stay professional, then maybe after all was said and done, I’d go out with them. But, no. Worse was the fact that both were incredibly handsome, and Endeavor was a role-model for me when I was making a name for myself. And I may have a thing for younger guys…

           A heavy sigh escaped my lips when the heroes entered my car, signaling it was time for the raid. 

           “I’m impressed, it only took all seven of you to get me tied to this chair and hang it from the ceiling.” I say smugly.

           I was, obviously, tied to a chair dangling from the ceiling, the seven villains in a semicircle around me while my partners and squad were in the front room, fighting the countless lackeys they hired over the years. Thankfully, I got away from that pointless scuffle and was able to corner the villains we had been searching for. Naturally, they thought they had the upper-hand.

           Oh, were they wrong.

           Best part? The idiots started monologing. They took turns revealing all they had done, like they fucking rehearsed it. I was loving every second of it, considering they were holding my faux ear piece, which functioned as a recorder. They also removed my utility belt, claiming a toy gun and plastic knives. What they didn’t take was my bulletproof vest that was fitted to my body, so it looked natural; nearly a dozen real knives hidden on my person, including the one currently slicing away at my restraints; several shock-absorbing braces on my arms and legs that were reminiscent of an African hero’s panther suit; and a pair of faux glasses that I was wearing with thermal, night, infrared, and UV vision.

           Being kind enough to wait until the end of the monologue, I stayed in the chair, reclining with my legs crossed while snacking on a bagel I had tucked away, a knife twirling in my free hand. When they finally stopped, a string of threats was thrown towards me before one realized my bonds were broken.

           Having spent the 15 minutes they monologued mentally reviewing the info I gathered on them, creating a feasible plan to execute that would incapacitate the three villainesses and the three villains. Then, I was going to interrogate the behemoth of a person that was in charge to find out what secrets they had given to the League.

           The villainesses consisted of one who could electrically charge their muscles for extra strength and speed, one who could bend light to create barriers and turn invisible, and another who could sap the heat from objects to effectively freeze them. The villains, on the other hand, had one who could exhale hurricane force winds, one who resembled a scorpion with a tail and pincers, and another who could increase gravity in a small area. As for the behemoth, they could block out all pain, and had a one time use of a mutated quirk that allowed to double the pain experienced and force it onto someone else.

           Swinging from the chair and breaking the chain holding it, I spun it around as I descended, crashing it into the leader so I could focus on the other six. Hitting the ground rolling, my braces already storing energy, I blocked several charged punches from a villainess before judo flipping her into the tempest breather with the help of the braces, causing him to blow back the gravity shifter and knock him out while he, himself, got electrocuted. The villainess was knocked out from the force of the impact.

           Three down, three to go. Then, the main boss … I may play too many videogames in my spare time. Ah, well. I was having fun, but it got exponentially more exciting when I was charged by the heat sapper and scorpion man; or so they attempted to fool me with. My special glasses allowed me to see the light bender who was shadowing the heat sapper (I probably should’ve learned their names).

           All I had to due was time their movements, so they struck each other, which proved a challenge to me. After all, I needed the scorpion to strike and poison the heat sapper who would, in turn, flail and steal the heat of the light bender, freezing them in place.

           Or, I could go a route that relied on actual skill, and not arbitrary luck (although, there was a heroine back in the states who could manipulate luck; I think she was part of some sort of force with an ‘X’ in it?). 

           Dodging the tail thrust of the scorpion, I grabbed his tail and pulled him into an overclocked punch, knocking him out. Then, ducking under the grasp of the sapper, I grapple her, spin around, and suplex her into the light bender, using up the stored energy in my arm braces (and possibly breaking someone’s bone(s)).

           Finally, I moved on to the big one, seeing as they were finally able to pick themselves up from the ground and face me. I had to be careful with this one, seeing how they didn’t feel pain. But, as a favorite red-headed character from a show I like once said…

           ‘I don’t need him to feel pain; I just need him to GO DOWN!’

           They charged me in a fit of rage, swinging an arm at me. I leapt up, allowing my leg braces to absorb the impact as I was launched into a wall. Once again using my braces, I timed my velocity to kick off the wall with maximum force, shooting towards final villain, and with a simple twist and drop kick, they crashed through the building, skidding into the street.

           Strutting out into the main room where my squad and the heroes were preparing to breach the door that now lay splintered, I drunk in the praise of my squad (after an accidental misfire at me, which didn’t faze either them or me since I still wore my vest); having seen me in action before, they had an inkling of what to expect. As for the two males currently gawking at me, unable to respond, I didn’t hesitate to make a remark while still on my adrenaline high.

           “Well?” I ask, my voice laced with authority as my lips donned a smug grin. “The sooner you two finish up the job, the sooner you two can fire your ‘shots’ in me. Or am I too much for the two of you to handle?” I finish with a wink and coy smirk, leaving to my car.

           The last thing I heard was the scrambling of feet and an argument on who would top me first before I shout over my shoulder, “Who said I was letting either of you top?”

[aoi-herondale]

Snowbaz Beauty and the Beast AU

Read on Ao3

Translation of the fic by @black-tea-blue-pens​. thanks to @ninanineto​ for betaing and stopping me before I ended up crying of frustration <3

Year 119 Before the Rose:

The streets were covered with banners. On each window, on each balcony. Joy had filled the capital and was spreading throughout the country, to the rhythm of the gallop of the twenty messengers who had immediately set off for the main cities of the country. A single name on everyone’s lips, taking everyone out into the street: the women in their party dresses, the men in their Sunday best and  the children with flowers in their hands.

Inside the palace that dominated the center of the city, in the ample bedroom of Queen Natasha, she layed in bed, holding the cause of all the commotion. While children and elders, rich and poor, nobles and plebeians swarmed under the balconies of the palace with noisy expectation, Fiona, Natasha's sister, well-known for her impatience and for having her own way of doing things, burst into the bedroom. As the king paced back and forth across the wide hallway like a caged lion, waiting and despairing, gray eyes opened for the first time. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Year 105 Before the Rose:

They called him Baz. He was a prince with his feet on the ground and with a good head on his shoulders, full of common sense. Perhaps the premature  death of Natasha, his mother, when giving birth to her third child had something to do with his premature maturity. Or maybe not. At the age of fourteen he had already assumed that he was going to be king. At the age of fourteen, half the kingdom loved him and the other half adored him. At the age of fourteen he began to lose the childish features and acquire a beauty that had been announced since he was a child. At the age of fourteen his world began to collapse.

__________

It must have been around nine in the evening when the carriage arrived at its destination. The kings descended from it, followed quickly by their heir to find themselves before a palace that, while not as big as theirs, didn’t fall short either. They followed the butler into the palace, all the way to the throne room: it was the first time that Baz had traveled as a prince and therefore, the first time he visited another throne room. This one in particular was especially luxurious, with the walls full of paintings that depicted episodes of that country’s history; the floor covered in marble and the huge glass chandeliers hanging from a ceiling that seemed unreachable.

Baz did not see any of that.

At the back of the room, two armed and uniformed guards stood on either side of a dais. Above it, two dark wooden thrones with red upholstery held the king and queen, who rose to their feet when they saw his parents walk in and came to greet them, immediately abandoning all formalites.

Baz did not see that either.

His gaze was fixed on the green-eyed young man who, next to his parents, was advancing towards him. Jamie, was his name; his parents had told him he was two years older than him and he was the only son of those kings. His mere presence completely flustered him, and he had to try as hard as he could to concentrate and remember where he was. All it took was for the boy to return his gaze and smile to make Baz's pulse speed up.

Year 100 Before the Rose.

The day was going badly. Really badly. Actually, everything had been going badly for quite some time.

Baz had come to a conclusion about his sexuality a couple of years ago, the same amount of time he had been hiding it from his parents. He had been rejecting princess after princess with all kinds of excuses: his father had accepted them at first. But after the fifth visit that had ended in refusal, he became more insistent: Baz found it increasingly difficult to convince his father that none of the young women he was introduced to was adequate and knew that, sooner or later, he would have to get married. Not only that: he had to marry a woman. They had instilled in him his responsibility to his people and with his family all his life and yet...

Each day he had more and more doubts. And as they increased, the pressure about his marriage increased as well. Baz still maintained the facade of external perfection while everything inside him crumbled day after day, and the only one who seemed to notice was Penny, the young housekeeper of the castle: the one who had taken care of his younger siblings after the death of Natasha. His father, busy as he was with State affairs, had stopped paying attention to Baz as a son and only saw him as an heir. His stepmother had never had a close relationship with him and was not going to start having one now, and as for his aunt ... He adored his aunt. But she was not the best person to go to with his problems.

It was Baz's nineteenth birthday. With the excuse of celebrating his coming of age, the king had summoned all possible candidates for becoming his son's wife, including those who had been rejected, and all the important international dignitaries. Among the guests there were even a few gentlemen who decided that it didn’t hurt to try. Jamie was also there, but seeing him enter arm in arm with his newly acquired wife and smile at him like the first time, only put Baz in a worse mood. He would have given anything to escape to the kitchen with Penny, but after all that party revolved around him. He could not let so many people down.

_____________

Princess Agatha Wellbelove was the fifth of nine, born after three boys and a girl. From her earliest childhood she had known that her chances of reigning or even receiving more than a dowry were completely nil, so at the age of seven her parents sent her to a foreign boarding school: a co-ed school called Watford where, in addition to teaching her literature, history, mathematics and some science, they taught her traditional magic. She spent nine years in that school, coming first to hate it and then to love it and when she came back at sixteen, the first thing she did was to look for a job. In her country, a particularly liberal one, she was well known for her spells of all kinds. Meanwhile, her older brother inherited the kingdom; the rest, after fighting for a couple of ducats in no man's land for a while, got into the military or became monks and her sisters were all engaged. She had assumed that she would live as she did then and had no problem with that.

However, when she heard from her older sister that Basilton, Prince of Pitch, was looking for a wife, she came to the sensible conclusion that it was now or never.

The ballroom doors, already closed behind the one who was supposed to be the last guest, opened. The whole crowd turned their heads at once, including Baz, who used it as an excuse to cut the boring conversation he was having with the count of someone-or-other about boar hunting or something like that. In the door frame stood Agatha: blue eyes, soft features. Long blonde hair collected in a complicated hairstyle that left the neck exposed. Dress the color of her eyes, tight and floor length. In that moment more than one wanted to be in Baz's shoes because, without previous rehearsal or prompting, a corridor formed between them, and she, with a shyness not entirely feigned, began to advance towards him. It was much better than the girl had expected: from his gray eyes with shades of what seemed like green, to his slender body and long legs, perfectly highlighted by the suit.

Baz was dancing. With Agatha Wellbelove. And he did not know how or why he had ended up in that situation: the same one that he had been avoiding all afternoon. If he had looked around, he would have seen more than one face of disappointment, and not just among the ladies. However, between the dizziness, the bad mood and the bewilderment, he did not see much beyond the end of his nose. She talked. She kept talking. Her voice echoed in his head, and it was pleasant and well modulated but he deemed it unbearable. Everything was unbearable in that moment.

The piece ended. Arm in arm, they went out into the garden, and nobody seemed to want to stop them, which they both appreciated, but for different reasons. Agatha kept talking as they walked among the roses that Baz's father had planted as one his wedding gifts to Natasha. An occasional "uhm", "yes", "I see" or a simple nod from Baz kept her happy. Baz's father had taught him well.

“And ... Well, Basilton.”

"Baz," he interrupted.

“Baz. Do you intend to get married?” There it was. THE question. Baz shrugged.

"I should," he answered. “I suppose at some point I will.”

“What do you think of me as a candidate?”

How straightforward , Baz thought. More than any of the girls before her.

"To put it bluntly" she continued “I know that your parents are pressuring you. Honestly, I do not know why you have not given in and I'm not interested either. But..."

“Stop. Don’t go there” Baz had not seen that coming. As Agatha spoke, the image began to develop in his head. The word that was missing. What none of those girls had, not even her, and what even Baz himself lacked.

“But if you married me, all that would be solved: you would have a lot of freedom. Pure convenience, for both.”

“Convenience? And what about happiness? I can assure you that I have no interest in making anyone happy.” Baz found that he was resorting to everything he had not to explode, and he was not even sure why: he knew that it was completely unjustified, that she had not tried anything that the others had not tried and yet …

“I don‘t care about that. It's not like I think I'm going to find the love of my life.”

Love. There it was. The reason why it seemed unfair to marry a woman, both to her and to him. His expression changed and Agatha saw it clearly. She let out a very inconsiderate laugh.

“Are you serious? You? The crown prince of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the known world? Looking ... For love? You have to be kidding me.”

“WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU BRAT!?” -Baz lost his temper. He felt unwell. Very unwell. And he wasn’t sure anymore if it was because of the anger, dizziness, everything in general or nothing in particular.

"Nobody talks to me like that," Agatha replied without losing her composure. She approached one of the rosebushes: gently and very deliberately, she plucked one of the rose and began to caress the petals distractedly. “If you really want to marry for love, so be it.”

With the hand with which she was caressing the rose, she pointed to Baz. It was for an instant. Then she moved closer and put the rose in his pocket.

“Do not lose it. You have a hundred years to find your ... ‘love’.”

And just like that, she left.

Baz went back to the party. He danced with more people. He chatted. And yet, he was completely distracted and to some extent he felt guilty. When (at last) the last guest left at dawn, he went to bed, leaving the rose on the bedside table without thinking too much about it.

He never got to fall asleep. An uneasy feeling began to invade him, from the bottom up. He tried to get up, but each movement hurt. Lacking the ability to do anything else, he waited. He waited until that indescribable discomfort was slowly waning, and when he finally managed to get up he felt strange. Lighter. Drier. He crawled towards the mirror, tripping over along the path with his violin case, looking for any anomaly and ... He found them.

He was much thinner than he had been a couple of hours ago, and paler: he was still him, but there was nothing left of the beauty he had displayed the previous night in the ballroom. It seemed that everything between his skin and bones had been removed: his eyes had sunk, framed by deep dark circles and had lost their shine. He seemed a different person. Even his hair had turned a dirty black. Frightened, he ran to the servants’ dorms and burst into the housekeeper’s room.

“Penny!” Everything was silent and she was nowhere to be found. He ran to the kitchen: he couldn’t see anything.

“Baz!” It was Penny’s voice. He heard a tinkling, and he turned on the lights. He still didn’t see her. “Baz! Over here!"

Penny’s voice was coming out of a teapot placed on the countertop. The tinkling was her jumping.

“Penny what… What happened?” He did not hear the answer. A strong pain invaded his upper gum, and he raised his hands to his mouth waiting to see blood. There was nothing. But the pain passed, two long fangs dug into his lower lip.

“Baz, you are…”

“Penny, let’s go.”

Baz picked Penny up in his hands. She weighed more than he expected, and she was empty. Or maybe it was because of all the weight he had lost in such a short time. He ran to the most remote wing of the castle, the only place where they wouldn’t wake anyone up and that could give them answers: the library.

“Baz.” The boy was frantic. He mumbled something intelligible under his breath as he ran from one side to the other, hysterical. “BAZ!”

He stopped and looked down at the teapot.

"Sit down," she ordered. Baz did it. “Now you're going to take a deep breath, and you're going to tell me what you did last night.”

And he told her. He told her, to the extent that he remembered, of the anger he had carried all day; of Agatha’s appearance, of the screams, of the rose…  The rose.

“Hey, and what do you have to do with all that?” He finished with, as way of conclusion.

“Collateral damage of the spell. Agatha is a witch, but she is not cruel. I doubt she wants you to live a hundred years alone. Show me the rose”

Baz picked Penny up again and went back to his room: the rose was placed carelessly on the bedside table, but now it gave off a strange glow.

“Baz, are you sleepy?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither.”

Year 87 Before the Rose

The girl, barely five years old, peeked shyly into the reception room, out of which an ambassador had just come out. Upon seeing her enter, her parents left aside the heated argument between them, which she interpreted as a permission to approach her mother.

“Mom, do vampires exist?”

The kings looked at each other, bewildered.

“Why do you ask?” The mother inquired.

“A boy in my class says that there is one in the abandoned castle.”

“Mordelia, vampires do not exist. It’s all tales. And now go to bed.”

As soon as the princess was away, the king faced his wife.

“Why did you lie to her?”

“I do not want her to know.”

“He's my son. And her brother.”

“It's a vampire. And there’s nothing more to be said about it.”

After that fateful party seven years ago, Baz spent three days practically locked in the library. In that time, he discovered that his heart was not beating; that he did not need to sleep and that he did not feel hunger, but he did feel... Thirst. On the third day he had found the answer in the books: his parents, convinced that he had some kind of illness, refused to believe him.

On the fourth day he almost killed a maid, and only then did they resign themselves to admit the obvious: Baz was a vampire.

It was he himself who, after ending the plague of rats that inhabited the dungeons, left with Penny (who had accepted her new fate very casually) to the abandoned castle in the middle of a forest about which there were too many legends for anyone to come close to it. He forbade his entire family to visit him, even his father. Publically, Baz had gone to another country to negotiate trade relations and did not know when he would return. When Mordelia was born two years later, Baz didn’t even know about it. In the same way that his parents did not learn that Agatha, aware that the curse had been excessive but having no intention of canceling it, had put at the disposal of his son an army of talking furniture and cutlery, commanded by Penny. Neither did they know that their son in those seven years had read more books than he ever had in his life, nor that, if he was a great violinist before, he was now the best.

Speaking of not knowing, they did not even know that Baz had tried to commit suicide. Repeatedly. Enough to lose count. After each new attempt, Penny would find him lying on his bed, repeating over and over again "I do not want to kill anyone." And the worst thing for her was that he had not done it yet: he had more than enough with the animals that dwelled the area. Penny knew it, but Baz did not. Baz could see nothing but the stupid way he had ruined his life. Love? Who would love a vampire?

Year 19 Before the Rose

In an unknown city, at the edge of a huge forest, in possession only of a half-ruined house, a change of clothes and a lot of ideas and to top it off, with a baby in his arms. Davy took a deep breath. He could no longer travel, it was clear. He could not leave the kid alone, let alone take him with him. He would have to ... settle down. Ugh. That word made his stomach turn.

The boy smiled, completely oblivious to the nuisance that he entailed for his father.

“You could have stayed with your mother…” Then he realized. He did not know the name of the child; in her haste, Lucy had failed to tell him. “Simon”, he said after thinking about it for a while. Yes: Simon was a name as good as any other. He left him on the floor, fiddling with the straps of the backpack and opened the windows. First things first: if they were going to settle down, the house would have to be cleaned up.

Month 2 Before the Rose

Davy was obsessed with overthrowing the adjoining government. Simon, accustomed as he was to his father's follies, wasn’t too worried. The rest of the town thought differently, but that did not matter as much to the father as it did to the son. Simon had heard the story thousands of times: that a century ago the neighboring kingdom, where he was born, ran smoothly, that the kings were righteous. That their heir was going to be a great king. That he disappeared. That instead of reigning the first child, the second ascended to the throne and everything had gone from bad to worse. With his death just a few weeks ago and the reigning chaos regarding the next king’s coronation, it was his chance. Now or never.

It was raining. Simon was in the library, as he always was when it rained.

"Hello, Simon." Upon hearing his name, he looked up from the book. Looking directly at him was Philipa. He smiled.

“Good Morning.”

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, nothing, a fairy tale” and he went back to reading.

“Is it interesting?”

He nodded without taking his eyes off the book.

“Hey, when are you going to ask me to marry you?”

“I'm reading. You could ask me, for a change.”

“I can’t. I am a girl.”

“What a load of nonsense.”

“If I asked you, would you say yes?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sure.” And she laughed. She still didn’t take it seriously.

She sat next to him. Simon finished the book, returned it to the shelf and picked up another. Meanwhile, Philipa got lost in her thoughts.

That the heiress of the fief in which he lived was infatuated with Simon had many advantages: She had taken his father out of prison once and everyone treated him with a deference that in some way made him feel uncomfortable, although it was always better than being "the son of the madman". But it could also be a bore: Simon did not understand what Philipa, a rich and noble girl obsessed with perfecting her swordsmanship, saw in Simon, who did not leave the city's library except to eat or sleep.

“Simon, your father is leaving today, right?” Simon finally looked up from the book.

“I had forgotten.”

By the time Simon got home, Davy was about to leave. The farewell was not particularly emotional for either of them; they were used to it.

"Should I ask Philippa to check up on you every once in a while until I come back?"

“No way, she is capable of coming to live here. Be careful, please.”

“I will.”

But by the time he disappeared from Simon's sight, Davy was already thinking about something else. He got lost in thought very easily, so he did not realize that he was lost until nightfall. It was then that he heard the howls. "I should not have gotten into the woods" was all he had time to think before being surrounded by a dozen pairs of eyes that shone in the rain. He forced the horse to turn around and spurred him.

The wolves followed.

Davy was calm. It took a lot to freak him out, and he knew that it was impossible for the wolves to catch up to his horse. That leaving them behind was only a matter of time. But of course, the animal did not think so: came to a point, it reared. Davy fell and was left alone. He was not so calm anymore.

He ran in the direction of what looked like a tower, which stood over the trees. He arrived at a gate. It was so rusty it yielded after a few blows and pushes and Davy found himself in the garden of a huge palace, very dark and almost abandoned, safe from the wolves.

“Hello?”

Davy expected a lot of things: for the castle to be abandoned, for some madman to be living inside (an actual madman), for some kind of monster to be locked up inside…

But if there’s something he wasn’t expecting it was to be welcomed by a teapot.

“Goodnight sir. How may I help you?”

He must be a little out of it, he thought. He was not particularly shocked to see a talking teapot.

“I'm lost.”

The talking teapot guided him to a huge lit fireplace. It was a big castle and very, very dark. Simon would love it.

While he was admiring the castle, someone entered the room.

“Penny, what…?”

“Baz, it was raining and…”

“Penny, why is there a human in the castle?”

Davy got up and turned around, not knowing what to expect: he did not get to see what or who it was.

In the short time it took for him to be locked up in the dungeon, he only had time to see that the one who should be the owner of the castle, had hands. White, very pale hands, but at least he wasn’t a piece of furniture.

Day 60 Before the Rose.

Simon had lived for nineteen years on stories. Real stories, that his father told him about his travels, before he met that girl and before the appearance of Simon. Sometimes, those stories made him feel guilty: after all, he was the reason his father was enclosed in that city. That he didn’t leave the house for more than a month at a time. And yet, Davy had told him time and time again that this was fine, that he was worth it.

Simon knew that one day he would carry on those stories: one day he would be the one to pick up his backpack and start walking in a randomly chosen direction. He had known it for as long as he could remember, and he simply waited patiently for that day to come. In the meantime, he read. It was his way to escape ahead of time. However, lately something had changed. Something had settled in Simon's stomach and kept pulling him forward. Impatience. He wanted to leave that city. Not at that moment, of course. Winter was about to start and he had enough with his father's trip. So there he was, rereading for the hundredth time the only book they had at home and his favorite (one that the owner of the library had given him when he took it out for the ninth time) and waiting. For what? Who knew.

The knocking on the door scared him. Strong, uncontrolled. They did not even seem human.

They were not.

When Davy showed up saying that he had bought a horse because it was intelligent, Simon did not pay much attention to him and yet it must be because there it was, was banging on the door as if it wanted to throw it down. Simon did not have time to think: he grabbed his sword, climbed onto the animal and let himself be carried, praying to whoever was up there for  his father to fine. Or at least alive. He was mentally shuffling all the possibilities ("they have robbed him, they have killed him, they have imprisoned him, they have kidnapped him") when he arrived at the enormous iron gates that had saved his father's life the night before. He left his horse tied to the gate, and took a deep breath and drew his sword before entering the castle. The interior seemed completely empty: “it must be abandoned”, he thought. Trying to make as little noise as possible and cursing himself for not having accepted when Philipa offered to teach him to move like something more dignified than a duck, he began to go through room after room.

He had never had much patience, and by the time he found the stairs that lead down, he began to get impatient. He descended step after step. He had not walked much before he heard a voice:

“Anyone there!?”

Simon started to run.

“Dad! What are you doing here?”

“Simon! How...? It doesn’t matter. Go away. You have to leave. He's going to lock you up, too.”

Davy had been locked up all night, and he still had not figured out how he was going to get out of there. He did not care much either: it would not be the first time he had spent some time in captivity, but Simon... Simon was another story.

_______________

When Penny saw the boy enter, the first thing that came to her mind was to approach him. Then she thought that one person in the dungeons was more than enough, and she went to find Baz. The vampire had spent all night in his room; he hadn’t even allowed Penny herself to get close.

“Baz, we have another visitor.”

“Throw him out.”

“I can’t. He came for the man from last night.”

“Well, let them both go.”

Upon hearing that, the teapot became angry.

“That’s it. You go.”

“Are you crazy! I'll kill someone.”

“Baz, you've gone ninety-nine years without killing anyone. Who says you're going to start now?”

“There were no humans here before. Now there are.”

“Baz, you have ten seconds to go down there or I'll stop speaking to you.”

The prince huffed and crawled out of bed. He picked up the teapot and, after calling the chandelier, started walking towards the dungeons.

Simon did not hear the steps, but he did notice the presence behind him. He stood up and turned around.

The first thing he saw was white. Baz's skin had worsened over time, and if he had started out pale, it was pure paper by now. Then, the suit: tailored in an old-fashioned way, as if it had been made to last century’s fashion. His hair, black like few things he had seen before. His eyes. When they talked about the beauty of gray eyes in books, they must have been talking about that. Simon thought they were missing something, but he could not put his finger on what it was.

Then he pushed him, and Simon got blown away. It was then that he found the adjective: fossilized. The boy before him was completely fossilized, buried alive. And yet, he still had something. His cheekbones were spectacular. There were the remains of someone who must have been beautiful once.

“What are you doing here?”

Simon got back on his feet.

“I've only come to free my father. Please, let us go.”

He approached him. And to the chandelier. Baz could see him.

He had blue eyes. A shade of blue that would be nothing out of the ordinary, but Baz had not seen the sky for too long. The bronze curls. And yet, what caught his eye the most was the color of his skin. A soft tan, constantly interrupted by innumerable freckles, that seemed to scream that he was alive.

But he was not going to back down.

“I'm not going to let intruders go unpunished. One of you must stay.”

He immediately regretted it. Why would he want them to stay?

“I'll stay.”

Of course , Davy thought.

“Simon, I'm older. Let me stay. There’s a lot of…”

“Dad, you still have a country to save.”

He did not have time to say more. Baz dragged Davy out of the palace and closed the door again. Simon heard the gallop of the fleeing horse.

“Baz, please, give that boy a room.”

Penny's ability to stay calm was sometimes exasperating for the vampire.

After they showed him the room, Simon locked himself in it. He wanted to burst into tears.

Penny followed Baz into his.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, I demand an explanation. Now.”

“What do I know, Penny! I was not thinking clearly!”

“That's clear.”

Penny did know why. She knew there were only two months left. She knew this was his only hope. And he knew that, deep down, Baz had not given up. He knew that this was his last chance. So she hopped off, on her way to Simon's room.

Day 55 Before the Rose.

“Go down there right now and invite him to dinner.”

“Penny, I will not take that risk.”

“Oh, you will. The boy has been living off bread and water for five days straight and hasn’t left the room.”

“What if I kill him?”

“Baz, you want to talk to him, right?”

The vampire nodded.

“Then go right now. If you kill him, well, bad luck. We will be back to square one.”

That was a terrible thing to say, but Penny was beginning to despair. Baz got up, took a deep breath (which, although unnecessary, he had gotten used to doing) and marched towards his guest's room. He knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

Inside, Simon was listening to some story that the closet was telling him about when she was some important noble lady’s lady-in-waiting.

“Uhh ... Snow?”

“Yes.”

“Come down for dinner in half an hour.”

He left with a completely unnecessary slam of the door.

Simon huffed and threw himself on the bed. It did not take long until he heard the characteristic clink of Penny approaching, followed by a bathtub.

“Come on, get up. We have half an hour to get you ready.”

“Get me ready for what?”

“I mean, you’re not thinking of dining dressed like that, right?”

Indeed, Simon was still wearing the clothes he had arrived in: old and a somewhat torn, now it was also dirty.

“I’m not going to go to dinner, dressed like this or any other way.”

If Penny wasn’t a teapot, she would have rolled her eyes.

“Come on, get in the bath and we’ll talk.” And she hid behind the closet. Not wanting to argue (or do anything else), Simon obeyed. Penny kept talking from outside his field of vision.

“Look, Simon, I don’t know you that well. But seeing as it took you less than twenty-four hours to come for your father, and from the little we’ve talked, you don’t look like someone who wants to stay in this little room for the rest of his life. So at least give him a chance. Think about how you would be if you had been confined in such a place for so long, without seeing the light of day or being able to approach the world because you believe that you are a danger to the rest of humanity.”

Dinner was somewhat uncomfortable. Baz could not take his eyes off Simon, from which Penny deduced she had done a good job. Simon, on the other hand, could not take his eyes off the food: he was emptying plate after plate. The cook, a walking stove with long metallic arms, after almost a hundred years without being able to cook for anyone, had decided to show off. After a long while of uncomfortable silence, Baz tried what he had been wanting to do since he had summoned Simon to dinner: to start a conversation.

“What do you think of the castle?”

"It’s huge," Simon answered, through the mouthful of food. “I like it.”

“From now on, this is your home. You can go wherever you want except to the west wing.”

This time, Simon swallowed before answering:

“What’s in the west wing?”

“IT’S FORBIDDEN!”

Simon didn’t say anything else. After dinner, he went back to his room. He was not in such a bad mood anymore.

Day 52 Before the Rose.

It took Penny two days to convince Baz have dinner with Simon again. His excuse? That damned thirst for blood again. So, after going hunting, Baz changed his suit, picked up his hair and went to Simon's room.

“Good night.”

Simon moved his head slightly as a way of greeting and kept polishing his sword, out of boredom rather than necessity.

“Simon, uhhh… Would you have dinner with me again?”

This time, Simon looked up and nodded. Like every time he met those eyes, Baz’s stomach turned.

Dinner went a lot smoother the second time. “How are things going out there?”

“Well, there's nothing interesting going on. i think the Northern countries are going to war against each other again, but other than that everything is quite peaceful. There are no problems around here since the civil war in Pitch, about sixty years ago. Because of the heir’s disappearance.”

Hearing those words, Baz looked at Penny. She shrugged, unaware of the news.

Day 45 Before the Rose

“Snow?”

“Yeah?”

Baz took a deep breath.

“Do you get bored in there?”

“A bit. Why?”

“Is there anything you would like to do?”

Simon opened the door and peeked out. He had been instructed not to open it before the owner of the castle unless explicitly ordered to, but this was an emergency.

“Do you have books?”

_________________

He hated being blindfolded. Philipa did it too often, usually when she wanted to surprise him or take him somewhere. Simon was not particularly agile, when he could see he walked through life as if he were a drunk rhinoceros (in Davy's words), and without seeing he was completely at the mercy of whoever was ahead. It was not a very pleasant sensation.

And yet, there he was: letting a vampire blindfold him, a vampire who had said himself that he’d be able to kill him at any moment. He wasn’t fighting back. Why?

He heard the creak of what must have been a wooden door, and felt Baz's hand pulling him inside. Curtains sliding. The light went through the blindfold that covered him and seconds later, Baz took it off.

Books. Lots of books. Millions of books. More books that Simon could read in his whole life. It was an enormous tower full of storeys and storeys of printed paper that was calling out for him. For the first time since his arrival to the castle, Simon smiled.

Baz saw that smile. Something he could not name happened in his chest. He wasn’t able to realize that it wasn’t the first time he experienced that: it had been too long.

Day 30 Before the Rose

At least Simon was no longer bored, rather the opposite. Suddenly he lacked time to read book after book. The one he had in his house, the one he knew by heart and never got tired of was there but he couldn’t even open it: there were too many new things. Too many books he had never heard of, too many stories waiting for him.

Now that he had books again, he also recovered his energy, and began to train in the garden with the sword. His father had trained him since he was very young, and although he didn’t exactly have a natural gift for swordsmanship he made up for it with an almost superhuman tenacity. That, and the passion he put into everything he did.

There was a month left until the curse reached its deadline. Penny began to despair as she skipped through the castle in search of Baz, who for the first time in a long time was neither in his room playing the violin nor in the library reading. One hundred years without changing habits and now suddenly…

She found him in one of the ballrooms, with the window open, taking advantage of the huge clouds that covered the sky, observing completely captivated. Making as little noise as possible, Penny peeked in, curious to see what had her master so focused that he did not even notice her presence, and what she saw was Simon in the garden stabbing an invisible enemy in a thousand different ways with his sword.

“It seems like you like our guest.”

Baz jumped in surprise.

“Not at all.”

“You don’t? And what were you doing?”

“Observe.”

“Sure… And tell me, when did you realize?”

“Realize what?”

Seriously. Sometimes Penny would give anything not to be a teapot. Even if it was just so she could roll her eyes.

“That you’re in love.”

“I’m not in love. I can’t even observe in peace. Just shut up and go sit in a cupboard or whatever it is you teapots do when you have free time.”

And he left with agitated steps.

But Penny already had a plan in mind.

Day 21 Before the Rose.

Simon was returning from the library with a book in his hands. That one was especially interesting: a man who, after being betrayed, returned home fourteen years later to take revenge. He was absorbed in reading, and perhaps that was why he almost didn’t hear the sound.

But he did.

He closed the book and began to follow the sound, until he stood before a door: Baz's room. It was a violin. No. It was the best-played violin piece Simon had ever heard in his life: the flow of the notes, the emotion, everything. He didn’t even know what piece it was, but if they had asked him when he stopped hating the monster that had him locked up, he would have picked this one without hesitation.

Day 13 Before the Rose.

Things needed to be sped up.

It was true that things were getting better: Baz kept watching Simon when he trained, and Simon had noticed; Baz had started playing the violin in front of Simon, and sometimes even played in the library, while he read. They talked. They could spend hours talking about anything. Baz was losing his fear of attacking Simon and he was beginning to appreciate in some way the owner of the house, who as far as he knew, could very well be a vampire. But there was only half a month left and Penny wanted her body back.

“Hey Baz, what about we throw a party?”

“A ... What for?”

“Well, what do I know, look: we can open the big hall, the ballroom; there we set up the table, we put candles, we call the piano…”

“You have weirder ideas than Fiona.”

Baz said that sentence with his usual poker face, but Penny, who hadn’t heard him talk about his family for almost fifty years, smiled inside.

“Baz, think about it. Maybe that way…”

“Maybe what, Penny? Maybe he’ll be interested in me? In a vampire?”

Simon thought it was a great idea, and offered to help prepare everything but Penny sent him to get his measures taken so the wardrobe could get him a new suit and there she went, to tell Baz the news that he was not going to get out of this one.

The vampire accepted it with resignation, and that's how Penny organized all the staff to get the main ballroom cleaned in record time. Was it huge for only two people? Totally. But she was excited, and that was enough.

The clock struck nine o'clock, and Simon appeared at the door. Taking a good look at him, Penny thought, he wasn’t all that. The boy was alright, but there were much better-looking ones in court. There was that boy… Micah, was his name… Well, Baz liked Simon and she was not going to complain.

Simon was spinning around, trying to look at all the paintings on the ceiling at the same time; almost all of the forest, which was seen from the windows, and the ornaments on the table when Baz entered.

He forgot about everything else.

By now he had figured out that Baz was a vampire. He hadn’t asked anyone, but he was increasingly convinced. Seeing him then made him doubt: in the books, vampires were dark, cruel beings, that had no problem killing whoever it was to feed themselves. The boy before him, in the technical aspects, did fit the descriptions: he had never seen him eat or sleep; he was very pale, and did not go out into the sun. But all that alleged evil was simply not there. Baz looked at him with surprise, his mouth ajar; the eyes, of that color taken from the description of the heroes in his books, reflecting something indescribable for Simon and that Penny, from a corner, did know how to identify.

When Baz managed to look away from Simon's eyes ("he should style his hair like this more often", he thought) the first thing he did was close his mouth and try to regain his composure. Only then he brought Simon to the table. Once again, only he ate, while Baz watched him. They didn’t stop talking. They talked about books, about music, about swords, and Simon didn’t remember ever talking so much with a person, accustomed to his pensive father and the blunt answers he used to give Philipa. He found himself thinking about how someone could be so interesting despite having been locked in a castle for much longer, Simon suspected, than he had been outside.

The moment Simon finished eating, he began to hear a piano. It played by itself, from a corner of the table. It was a much more cheerful piece than the ones owner of the castle used to play, and he stood up.

“Baz, do you dance?”

Baz knew how to dance. Or at least, at some point in his life he had known how to. But a dance had been the cause of his current situation, and he had not done so for nearly a hundred years.

“No.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Simon took him by the hand, dragged him to the middle of the room and they positioned themselves. Baz's hand on Simon's shoulder, and Simon resting his hand on Baz's hip. For once, he was grateful for what Philipa had taught him.

“Chin up. Don’t look at the ground.”

They began to move. Simon led Baz, counting in a low voice.

“One two three. One two three. Don’t drag your feet.”

His counting turned into a mumble, which faded gradually. They danced the whole piece, then another one and another one. Baz remembered almost immediately and picked up the pace easily. The songs became slower. Simon found himself almost hugging the vampire, moving in circles and Baz wondered, casually, what would happen if he kissed him.

The brush of his fangs against his lower lip reminded him that he could not do that.

Hour 51 Before the Rose.

The sun was setting. Through the window you could see the cloudy sky, growing darker. Baz had gone hunting, and Penny was in the kitchen. It was time to go to the west wing. Before leaving the room, in a gesture that was out of nervousness rather than anything else, Simon looked both ways. The corridor was empty. He walked slowly, trying not to make noise and look natural at the same time: he still had not gotten used to the fact that the furniture was everywhere watching.

The door was quite ordinary: wooden, somewhat heavy. It was closed but had no locks. It didn’t seem to hide any great treasure.

Simon went in. The room was very dark, and once he got used to the gloom he saw that everything was completely destroyed: the curtains, the furniture, the paintings... There were several of them, depicting what must have been Baz's family. A woman, a man and several children of all ages. One of the wooden frames held a torn canvas. Overcome by curiosity, he did his best to reassemble it and found a very well-made portrait: a boy with dark skin, gray eyes and high cheekbones. Simon soon recognized the model, despite how much he’d changed.

He would have spent all night looking at the portrait, but something else drew his attention. On a table, in a corner, there was a rose. It was open, and some petals had fallen but what stood out to Simon was the strange glow it gave off.

“Simon! What are you doing here?” It was Penny.

“What? I…”

“Simon, you have to get out of here. Baz is going to…”

“But…”

“Go, hurry up.”

“Penny, why…?”

“Simon, please go, fast.”

“I'm not going to leave until you explain what that rose is.”

“Too late.”

Baz's outline appeared, silhouetted against the light of the corridor.

“Snow, what are you doing here?”

“Baz, I'm sorry. I…”

“Go away.”

“Baz, no…”

“LEAVE!!” And Simon left. He ran to his room, and as soon as he grabbed his sword he left the castle. In no time was crossing the forest.

“Baz, how could you…?”

“Penny, shut up.”

“He was our last hope.”

“What hope? There is no hope, Penny. There never has been. Agatha…”

“TYRANNUS BASILTON GRIMM-PITCH! I'm so tired of you being melodramatic! Simon has gone to the forest. Alone. And do not expect me to give you a list of all the creatures that are loose out there.”

Baz could perfectly imagine Penny's face at that moment if she were human: the same one she had when his siblings got into the reception room during an important meeting.

But then Simon's blue eyes came to his head and his face when he saw the library for the first time and the night they danced together and he thought that, even if he remained a vampire, he did not want to let him go. He ran out towards the forest.

Hour 4 Before the Rose

“Baz, will you let me in?”

He did not get an answer.

Simon stepped into the room, and found the vampire sitting in a backless chair, with the rose between his fingers and his eyes lost somewhere on the floor. He had changed his clothes, so the bites and scratches, the result of having saved his life, were out of sight except for those on his face. The hardest thing for Simon was that he had come out unharmed.

When Baz caught up to him, the pack of wolves was surrounding Simon, who defended himself with the sword as best as he could, but he was not going to endure much longer. It had been the vampire who had made them flee, fighting with several of them.

“Baz, I… I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. It's already daytime, anyway. Leave if you want.” His tone was completely monotone, without the slightest trace of emotion.

Simon stood still at the door. He wanted to do something. He needed to do something.

“What are you waiting for? I'm telling you that you can go. You're free.”

But he did not know what.

“Baz, I… I don’t know if I want to leave.”

Silence.

“I'll be in the library.”

Baz didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look up when Simon walked out the door, and continued to stare off into space, spaced out.

Hour 2 Before the Rose.

The first to realize that someone was approaching were the pruning shears, who saw the crowd in the distance approaching the castle. They ran to warn Penny, who leaned out the window to see an armed crowd, led by a girl with a drawn sword.

They were under attack.

Penny entrusted the chandelier with organizing the defense before running up to the west wing. Baz was still there, in the same position Simon had left him.

“Baz, we’re being attacked.”

She did not get any reaction.

“Baz, please.”

Nothing.

“Basilton, I don’t have time for nonsense. They’re going to invade the castle and there are two hours left until the rose withers.”

Desperate, Penny left in search of Simon. Crossing the hall, he heard the voice of the man who had arrived at the castle two months ago.

“A vampire, yes. He has my son locked up.”

“Perfect. I’ll take care of him.”

Fear did most of the work: the last thing those people were expecting was to find an army of furniture and cutlery attacking them and most of them, who had arrived there in the heat of the moment but had not brandished a weapon in their life, fled instantly. The rest did not take long to follow them. In a matter of minutes there were only Davy and Philipa.

As the two went to the dungeons, Penny found Simon and quickly summed up the situation. The boy, far from having the reaction that Penny expected, panicked.

“She’s going to kill him, Penny. She will…”

“She can’t. He's a vampire, Simon. He can not die.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know her. She is capable of… torturing him, or something like that.”

When Simon reached the west wing, Baz was still alone.

“Baz, please, you have to leave. I’ll talk to them.”

At least he reacted. He looked at Simon, but did not say anything.

Philipa entered.

“Simon, what are you doing here?”

“Where’s my father?”

Davy came in after Philippa, but Simon did not have time to rejoice.

“Simon, move! He’s the vampire!”

Those words brought him back to reality.

“Baz, please leave.”

With a nod and without letting go of the rose, the vampire jumped out the window to the next balcony.

“Simon! What are you doing?”

“Dad, go home. Please. Both of you.”

But Philipa did not listen to him. She threw herself toward the window, sword in hand, but found Simon himself stopping her.

“Simon, I'm going to protect you. At all costs.”

“Protect me from what?”

“From the beast, obviously.”

“There's nothing to protect, Philipa.”

“Simon, you don’t realize. It has brainwashed you.”

Each time it was more complicated to stop her attacks, designed to disarm him.

"You are the one who is brainwashed, Philipa. He has not done anything to you.”

“He's a monster Simon, and he has kidnapped you.”

With those words, in a single movement the girl pushed Simon, took the sword and jumped out the window chasing Baz, who was still fleeing, but the distance was getting shorter.

Baz would never know if the cause was a stone, a broken tile, or just rain, but jumping from one balcony to another Philipa caught up with him. She raised her sword.

Something fell on her. Simon.

“Philipa, that's enough.”

She tossed and turned, trying to break free and they smashed into the railing which gave way. He grabbed onto one of the ledges.

She didn’t.

And she fell.

Baz lifted Simon up.

“SIMON!”

Davy gesticulated from the balcony of the west wing.

“Dad, I'm fine! Look for Penny, I’ll be right there!”

On the ground, the rose lost one more petal. It was still pouring rain.

“Snow, why did you do that?”

“Well… I don’t know. Because I wanted to?

“But why?”

“I suppose ... I’ve fallen in love.”

Minute 40 Before the Rose.

For once in his life, Baz ignored his fangs. And his fear. And he let himself be when Simon raised his head, closed his eyes and kissed him.

Penny was in the main hall, explaining the situation to Davy, when she started to grow. In a few seconds she was five foot two again, she had hair, face, hands and feet; even her glasses had returned. Around her, the cups and even the chair Davy was sitting on began to change as well, and in a matter of minutes the castle was full of people. No one except Penny was very sure of what had happened, but it didn’t matter, because they were human again.

Baz still wasn’t over Simon's statement, nor the kiss, nor the abs that showed under the soaking shirt when he himself began to change. His skin was darker, and it was warm. His hair was once again as black as before and his eyes regained the brightness and the green hues. He regained his previous weight, and muscles.

But the best was the pulse. His heart was beating again, he was alive again.

"I knew it," Simon said offhandedly.

The pain in his mouth returned, identical to that of that night, a hundred years ago. But this time when it finished, the fangs were not there.

They were not there. One hundred years living with them and finally. At last they had disappeared.

He hugged Simon, this time without qualms. Knowing that nothing was going to happen. That he was a human again. And maybe it was the rain, but Baz was convinced he was crying. That the two of them were crying. He was human again. One hundred years later he was human again.

It was already dawn when they came back into the castle. Baz had assumed it would be full of people, but not even Penny was there. He would have to thank her later.

They arrived at Baz's room and Simon could not look away from him. The portrait didn’t do him justice. Actually, it was far from it.

In a gesture that seemed too fluid to Baz, Simon took off his shirt and threw it to the ground. A puddle formed around.

“You are… Incredible.”

Simon blushed.

“You too.”

“Simon, why…? Why?”

"You called me by my name," he pointed out. “First of all, you have never done any harm to anyone. You were just trying to protect others. And I understand that you’ve held me in here. You were alone and… But I don’t think it was because of that. It happened, period.” Simon surprised himself with the fluency with which he spoke. “Do you love me?”

“Since you saw the library for the first time.” Baz didn’t even have to stop to think about it.

Baz was smiling, and Simon kissed him again. His lips, his cheekbones, his jaw. He unbuttoned his shirt, and continued with his shoulders, which were now wide and much firmer. And his neck. his neck was warm.

Baz woke up somewhat disoriented. That was his bed, that much was clear. And his room. But there was someone else in it. Simon. Even asleep he looked like a Greek god, his curls scattered on the pillow and his skin dotted with moles. Baz had touched each and every one the night before. (Or the day before, Baz was not sure, but it didn’t matter much to him either way).

He smiled. Things were okay. At last everything was okay.

EPILOGUE

Year 2 After the Rose.

The hardest thing of all, by far, had been putting things in order. When Baz finally left the castle, only Mordelia, his little sister who was not so small anymore, was still alive. The first thing she said when he saw him was "I knew vampires existed", quite childish for a woman almost a hundred years old. She had proclaimed him her long-lost son and he had risen to the throne, displacing his grandnephew who had not taken it especially badly. It’s not like he wanted to be king in a kingdom on the verge of bankruptcy.

The economy was a disaster. Foreign policy was a disaster. It was going to be difficult for Baz and Simon to get the country out of that situation and they had gotten to work right away: little by little, they were getting the country off the ground.

The added complication was that Baz was completely out of context: he had no idea what had happened to the kingdom in recent years and Simon was in charge of catching him up. Hearing that all the people he had lived with had already died, often left him completely devastated: Jamie had died barely three years after his disappearance, during a war, and in his family only remained his siblings’ grandchildren. It was often Simon who cut off the meetings prematurely to give him a break.

But that day they dropped everything. It was an early summer morning. In the castle’s garden, among the roses, in a tent set up to accommodate as many people as possible, Davy officiated the ceremony and at his side Simon smiled from ear to ear. Baz appeared on the arm of Penny, moving towards the altar. The ceremony was quick, partly due to the heat: it had been Baz who insisted on doing it on that date, saying that it had been too cold for the rest of his life and Simon could not agree more. The atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful, and if someone had a problem with two kings in the kingdom, they kept quiet forever. Among all the people who came to congratulate them, one of them, a blonde woman with clear skin and eyes, approached Baz, congratulated him and handed him a red rose. He stared at her without knowing very well how to react and she had already turned around to leave when he called her by her name.

“Agatha!”

The woman turned around and smiled. Baz smiled back.

“Baz, what's wrong?”

He kissed him on the lips.

“Nothing, Simon.”

Baz threw the rose to the ground and did not think about it again.

[doomedandstoned]

Swedish Sci-Fi Fuzz Freaks Skraeckoedlan Drop Third Single Ahead of ‘Earth’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Hot damn! This put me in a really good mood today. It's so good to hear new tunes from SKRAECKOEDLAN, the fuzz-drenched progressive stoner-doom outfit from Norrköping -- a city nestled in northeastern Sweden, about an hour-and-a-half's drive from Stockholm. Heavily rooted in the distinctives of their native soil, this three-piece sings entirely in Swedish, presenting a bit of a challenge to English-speakers, but no less an adventure in uncovering the backstory and interpretation of their songs...for nothing is at it seems.

A longtime favorite of Doomed & Stoned readers, the band has been wowing us with some of the most exciting songwriting on God's green earth since 2009. Now, a decade of dedication to anything is an accomplishment, but for a band with talents so laser-focused on their craft as Robert Lamu (guitar, vocals), Henrik Grüttner (guitars, vocals), and Martin Larsson (drums), it's a god damned milestone. The band, aptly named after an enormous prehistoric monster, has treated us to a pair of hefty long-plays already and now they brace for their third, 'Eorþe' (2019) on the esteemed Fuzzorama Records label.

The new record is a dense Lovecraftian tale by science fiction author Nils Håkansson, which he in fact wrote with the intention of having Skraeckoedlan bring to life over the course of these eight songs. It's a remarkable collaboration that is not only literary and musical, but visual, as well. The band worked once again with longtime artist Johan Leion to aid us in unlocking these mysteries of the faded past.

Today, Doomed & Stoned gives you a first listen to "Tentakler & Betar," which catches the narrative of Eorþe as it is nearing its end. The song is characterized by urgent beats, soaring vocal harmonies, weird effects, arpeggios that crawl like agitated spiders, and spirited riffs that fly and sing like the fowls of the air. Let me not fail to mention, too, that the sound is absolutely brilliant. The band tells us this about the number:

"This, the penultimate track of the album, takes us down into the darkness of the earth, as well as the mind. It explores what is left at journey's end and what to do when ambitions have been reached. Standing face to face with your obsessions, where do you go? As the cosmic clock relentlessly ticks, nothing will remain but tentacles and tusks."

February 15th is the date to watch for Skraeckoedlan's triumphant new album. It can be pre-ordered on some delicious looking vinyl variants here.

Give ear...

Some Buzz

Heavy riff power trio Skraeckoedlan are telling tales draped in metaphor. Fuzzy stories buried in melody are cloned into a one of a kind copy of an otherwise eradicated species. Previously found only in Sweden, this cold blooded lizard have once again started to walk the planet that we know as earth. The extinct is no longer a part of the past. Skraeckoedlan is the best living biological attraction, made so astounding that they capture the imagination of the entire planet.

The dinosaurs are believed to have made their first footprints on our earthen floor some 240 million years ago, during what is now known as the Triassic period. Indisputable behemoths and apex predators amongst them, they wandered freely and soared sovereign, ever evolving as the impending Jurassic and Cretaceous eras unfolded. Then, 65 million years ago, it stopped. Be it by asteroid or volcano, the dinosaurs’ fate became one shared with most species ever to inhabit our pale blue dot, extinction.

While Skraeckoedlan translates into something like dinosaur, an analogy better drawn is perhaps one to the great lizards’ descendants, the birds. In their flight there is a, quite literal, escapism to be found. A vital ingredient, encapsulating the bands very being. Although escape, it should be said, not necessarily in the sense of shying away but rather as a recipe for observation and introspection. A kind of fleeing of everyday worries in benefit of larger and hopefully more profound queries A bird’s-eye view, if you will.

"A prelude to the end. The moments of bliss before the imminent doom. We have journeyed to the place where it all unfolds, where the unseen rests and the secrets of the past lay buried. Here we too will become shrouded in mystery, riddles to be solved by those not yet granted a time and place in existence. Whatever the answers, one naked truth stands absolute. None shall leave the Ivory Halls."

Quite a few million years later than their reptilian namesakes, Skraeckoedlan is leaving their own footprints in earth’s soil, albeit not as physically grand. Their self-proclaimed fuzz-science fiction rock is an homage to the riff, vehemently echoing throughout the ages like that of a gargantuan Brachiosaurus striding freely. Equal in weight to the deafening heaviness of a Skraeckoedlan melody, these long-necked colossals further possess in their very defining feature the weapon needed for a complete experience of such melodies. Although strong neck or not, once in concert heads will, regardless of intent, be moving along.

Through their natively sung lyrics Skraeckoedlan invites us to partake in a world of cosmic awe inhabited by mythological beings and prehistoric beasts, like the immense havoc wreaking reptilian awakening from its slumber in the polar ice caps, featured on the debut full-length Äppelträdet (The Apple Tree), or the reclusive great ape Gigantos, solemnly wandering his mountain as one of several entities on the follow-up, Sagor (Tales). Against backdrops like these, underlying themes of the aforementioned big picture-nature are being explored, much in the spirit of, and hugely inspired by, great minds such as Alan Watts and Carl Sagan, fantastic creatures in their own respective rights.

"This song is, more than a part of the concept that is Eorþe, a story about life and the feelings of utter hopelessness our seeming oddity of an existence can often give rise to. It is a song about letting go and leaving behind. It’s about shattering the societal mirror and its reflection of illusionary demands and expectations, leaving your unhindered gaze looking ahead, to where your true calling lies. In short, it is a song about becoming truly free."

Formed in the city of Norrköping in 2009, Skraeckoedlan -- a reference to ‘Godzilla’ in Swedish -- are one of the most ambitious, original and multidimensional bands to emerge from Scandinavia in recent years.

Live shows with the likes of Orange Goblin, Kylesa, Greenleaf and other giants of the genre followed in the wake of Äppelträdet’s success and in 2015, with production underway on their follow-up album Sagor (Translated; ‘Tales’) Skraeckoedlan worked with a number of acclaimed producers including Niklas Berglöf (Ghost, Den Svenska Björnstammen) and Daniel Bergstrand (Meshuggah, In Flames, El Caco).

It wasn’t however until they met producer and technician Erik Berglund that they really found what was missing. Lifting the band to entirely new levels of musicianship, under his tutelage the creative process for Sagor not only left the band with an album they were immensely proud of, but one that sat deservedly at number two in the national Swedish vinyl sales chart in August of 2015.

"This song depicts the now submerged Doggerland as seen from the perspective of one of the mammoths who the continent used to house. In fact, we see through the eyes of Doggerland’s very last mammoth as its time amongst the living draws to a close. We occupy its head as thoughts of death and liberation mixes in a flurry of emotion and contemplation. Its destiny shared with the land upon which it walks, our traveler of tusk and wool journeys towards its final resting place while the North Sea rises ever higher, soon to swallow it all."

Like Galactus-in-reverse, their talent for constructing new worlds from the building blocks of heavy psychedelia and progressive rock is simply awe inspiring, and this February will see the release of their most accomplished vision yet: Eorþe (translated, "Earth").

In collaboration with sci-fi author Nils Håkansson who wrote the story behind the album specifically for Skraeckoedlan, Eorþe is set in the 1920s amid a mystery heavy with Lovecraftian influence and philosophical nuances. As the band explains, “This is by far our most ambitious work of art yet. It’s been a real challenge to do someone else’s story justice whilst making the songs cohesive as well as standing strong on their own. It took a lot of effort, but we’ve done just that.”

Having loyally served as heralds to Nordic folklore and science fiction since their inception, following the release of their early EPs in 2010 the band gained the kind of attention that could only lead on to the creation of a much-admired debut album in Äppelträdet (2011, translated; ‘The Apple Tree’) produced by Oskar Cedermalm from the legendary fuzz band Truckfighters.

Earth by Skraekoedlan

Heading into 2019 with the help of Fuzzorama Records, Skraeckoedlan steer a course to Eorþe, their first album in over three years and undoubtedly their most progressive. With the big metal riffs of ‘Kung Mammut’ riding shotgun alongside the more introspective and explorative moments of songs like ‘Mammutkungens Barn’ and ‘Angra Mainyu’, the trio have cut a definitive and spellbinding record of light and dark.

In addition to the CD and standard vinyl editions, Eorþe will also come in a limited-edition box set which sees the album split across two gatefold vinyl records: Earth: Above and Earth: Below. The set will come packed with pieces of merchandise that revolve around the story and feature alternative artwork.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[presssorg]

Surprise announcement derail major trade deal, Trump announced 5% tariff on all Mexican imports,

Trump promise of new Mexican tariffs brings protests WASHINGTON — In a surprise announcement that could derail a major trade deal, President Donald Trump has announced that he is placing a 5% tariff on all Mexican imports, effective June 10, to pressure the country to do more to crack down on the surge of Central American migrants trying to cross the U.S. border. He said the percentage will gradually increase — up to 25% — “until the Illegal Immigration problem is remedied.” The decision showed the administration going to new lengths, and looking for new levers, to pressure Mexico to take action — even if those risk upending other policy priorities, like the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement, a trade deal that is the cornerstone of Trump’s legislative agenda and seen as beneficial to his reelection effort. It also risks further damaging the already strained relationship between the U.S. and Mexico, two countries whose economics are deeply intertwined. Trump made the announcement by tweet after telling reporters earlier Thursday that he was planning “a major statement” that would be his “biggest” so far on the border. “On June 10th, the United States will impose a 5% Tariff on all goods coming into our Country from Mexico, until such time as illegal migrants coming through Mexico, and into our Country, STOP,” he wrote. “The Tariff will gradually increase until the Illegal Immigration problem is remedied.” Mexican President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador responded in a public letter late Thursday, telling Trump that “social problems are not solved with duties or coercive measures” and alluded to the United States’ history as a nation of immigrants. “The Statue of Liberty is not an empty symbol,” he wrote. He also said he was dispatching his foreign relations secretary to Washington on Friday to try to negotiate a solution.

In a surprise announcement that could derail a major trade deal, President Donald Trump has announced that he is placing a 5% tariff on all Mexican imports, effective June 10, to pressure the country to do more to crack down on the surge of Central American migrants trying to cross the U.S. border. In his growing fury over an increase in border crossings that he has likened to an ��invasion,” Trump has blamed Mexico for failing to stop the flow of asylum seekers from countries like El Salvador and Honduras who pass through its territory. And he has been itching to take increasingly radical, headline-grabbing action on the issue, which he sees as critical to his 2020 campaign because it energizes his base. But the sudden tariff threat comes at a peculiar time, given how hard the administration has been pushing for passage of the USMCA, which would update the North American Free Trade Agreement. It comes less than two weeks after Trump lifted import taxes on Mexican and Canadian steel and aluminum, a move that seemed to clear an obstacle to its passage, and the same day that both Trump and Lopez Obrador began the process of seeking ratification. The deal needs approval from lawmakers in all three countries before it takes effect. “The tariffs certainly put the USMCA on ice,” said Gary Hufbauer, an expert in trade law at the Peterson Institute for International Economics, who panned the move but said Trump does have the legal authority to impose the tariffs under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act by citing a national emergency. “The drama is legal, but it’s preposterous,” he said. Daniel Ujczo, a U.S.-based international trade lawyer, said the threat would likely slow the deal’s progress in Mexico and put U.S. lawmakers who want to vote “yes” in a difficult position because companies in their districts will end up paying the tariffs. Still, Ujczo and others wondered whether Trump — who has a habit of creating problems and then claiming credit when he rushes in to solve them — would go through with the threat. “This seems more theatre and tactics than a strategy to solve the migration crisis and rebalance North American trade,” Ujczo said. It wouldn’t be the first time Trump has punted on an immigration threat. In late March, Trump threatened to shut the entire U.S.-Mexico border if Mexico didn’t immediately halt illegal immigration. Just a few days later, he backed off the threat, saying he was pleased with steps Mexico had taken in recent days. It was unclear, however, what Mexico had changed. Indeed, on a briefing call with reporters Thursday evening, administration officials said Mexico could prevent the tariffs from kicking in by securing their southern border with Guatemala and entering into a “safe third country agreement” that would make it difficult for those who enter Mexico from other countries to claim asylum in the U.S. “We’re going to judge success here by the number of people crossing the border and that number needs to start coming down immediately, in a significant and substantial number,” said acting White House chief of staff Mick Mulvaney. He also insisted that tariffs were “completely” separate from the USMCA because one pertained to immigration and the other trade. Still the threat drew a withering response from Republican Sen. Chuck Grassley, a usual Trump ally, who slammed it as “a misuse of presidential tariff authority” that would burden American consumers and “seriously jeopardize passage of USMCA.” Mulvaney said the White House had briefed a number of Republicans on the plan and acknowledged that some — particularly in the Senate — had raised concerns about the president invoking such powers. The threat comes at a time when Mexico has already been stepping up its efforts to crack down on migrants, carrying out raids and detaining thousands of people travelling through the country en route to the U.S. The crumbling city of Tapachula, near the Guatemalan border, has become the epicenter of the crackdowns, with thousands of migrants stranded because the Mexican government isn’t providing them visas to travel. In addition, the Mexican government has allowed the U.S. to send back hundreds of asylum seekers from Central America and other countries, forcing them to wait out their cases in Mexico. But that hasn’t satisfied Trump, whose White House laid out an escalating schedule of tariff increases if his demands are not met: 10% on July 1, 15% on Aug. 1, 20% on Sept. 1 and 25% on Oct. 1. After that, the White House said, “tariffs will permanently remain at the 25% level unless and until Mexico substantially stops the illegal inflow of aliens coming through its territory.” —— Associated Press writer Kevin Freking and Paul Wiseman in Washington and Maria Verza in Mexico City contributed to this report. —— Follow Colvin and Long on Twitter at https://twitter.com/colvinj and https://twitter.com/ctlong1 Published at Fri, 31 May 2019 06:06:38 +0000 Read the full article

[emmadutton1993]

How Much Reiki Session Cost Surprising Useful Ideas

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What Is A Certified Reiki Practitioner

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[kansascityhappenings]

Trump announces new Mexican tariffs until ‘illegal immigration problem is remedied’

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WASHINGTON — In a surprise announcement that could compromise a major trade deal, President Donald Trump announced Thursday that he is slapping a 5% tariff on all Mexican imports, effective June 10.

The move is to pressure the country to do more to crack down on the surge of Central American migrants trying to cross the U.S. border.

He said the percentage will gradually increase — up to 25% — “until the Illegal Immigration problem is remedied.”

The decision showed the administration going to new lengths, and looking for new levers, to pressure Mexico to take action — even if those risk upending other policy priorities, like the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement, a trade deal that is the cornerstone of Trump’s legislative agenda and beneficial to his reelection effort.

Trump made the announcement by tweet after telling reporters earlier Thursday that he was planning “a major statement” that would be his “biggest” so far on the border.

“On June 10th, the United States will impose a 5% Tariff on all goods coming into our Country from Mexico, until such time as illegal migrants coming through Mexico, and into our Country, STOP. The Tariff will gradually increase until the Illegal Immigration problem is remedied,” he wrote.

Trump has accused the Mexican government of failing to do enough to halt the flow of asylum-seekers from countries including El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala. And he has been itching to take increasingly radical, headline-grabbing action on the issue, which he sees as critical to his 2020 campaign because it energizes his base.

But the sudden tariff threat comes at a peculiar time, given how hard the administration has been pushing for passage of the USMCA, which would update the North American Free Trade Agreement. It comes less than two weeks after Trump lifted import taxes on Mexican and Canadian steel and aluminum, a move that seemed to clear an obstacle to passage of his North American trade deal, and the same day that both the Mexican government and the Trump administration began the process of seeking ratification. The deal needs approval from lawmakers in all three countries for it to be ratified.

Daniel Ujczo, an international trade lawyer based in Ohio, said the move puts lawmakers who want to vote “yes” in an awkward position because companies in their home states will end up paying the tariffs. And it could slow down the deal’s ratification in Mexico, where President Andrés Manuel López Obrador on Thursday requested a special session of the Senate, which is in recess, to consider the matter.

“The tariffs certainly put the USMCA on ice,” said Gary Hufbauer, an expert in trade law at the Peterson Institute for International Economics, who said Trump has the power to impose the tariffs under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act by citing a national emergency, which Trump did.

“The drama is legal, but it’s preposterous,” he said.

Still, Ujczo and others wondered whether Trump — who has a habit of creating problems and then claiming credit when he rushes in to solve them — would go through with the threat.

“This seems more theater and tactics than a strategy to solve the migration crisis and rebalance North American trade,” Ujczo said.

In late March, Trump threatened to shut the entire U.S.-Mexico border if Mexico didn’t immediately halt illegal immigration. Just a few days later, however, he backed off the threat, saying he was pleased with steps Mexico had taken in recent days. It was unclear, however, what Mexico had changed.

Indeed, on a briefing call with reporters Thursday evening, administration officials said there were several things Mexico could do immediately to prevent the tariffs from kicking in, including securing their southern border with Guatemala and entering into a “safe third country agreement” that would make it difficult for those who enter Mexico from other countries to claim asylum in the U.S.

“We’re going to judge success here by the number of people crossing the border and that number needs to start coming down immediately, in a significant and substantial number,” said acting White House chief of staff Mick Mulvaney.

He also insisted that tariffs were “completely” separate “and apart from the USMCA” because one pertained to trade and the other immigration.

“The two are absolutely not linked,” he said.

In Mexico, trade negotiator Jesus Seade responded with a mix of alarm and dismissal. He called the matter “most serious” but also downplayed the likelihood the tariffs would go into effect.

“It is no secret to anyone that Trump is very active in his use of Twitter and he launches many tweets that are later changed,” he said.

The threat drew a withering response from Republican Sen. Chuck Grassley, a usual Trump ally, who slammed it as “a misuse of presidential tariff authority” that would burden American consumers and “seriously jeopardize passage of USMCA.”

Mulvaney said the White House had briefed some Republican members of Congress on the plan and acknowledged that some __ particularly in the Senate — had raised concerns about the president invoking such powers.

Trump’s tariff threat comes at a time when Mexican authorities have been stepping up their efforts, carrying out migrant raids and detaining thousands of people traveling through the country en route to the U.S.

The crumbling city of Tapachula, near the Guatemalan border, has become the epicenter of the crackdowns. Thousands of migrants have been stranded in the city because the Mexican government isn’t providing them visas that allow them to travel. Authorities have also been clearing out parks of camping migrants and raiding hotels where immigrants were staying.

In addition, the Mexican government has allowed the U.S. to send back hundreds of asylum seekers from Central America and other countries to force them to wait their cases out in Mexico.

But that hasn’t satisfied Trump, whose White House laid out an escalating schedule of tariff increases if his demands are not met.

“If the illegal migration crisis is alleviated through effective actions taken by Mexico, to be determined in our sole discretion and judgment, the Tariffs will be removed,” the White House said in a statement. Otherwise, the 5% figure will increase to 10% on July 1, to 15% on Aug. 1, to 20% on Sept. 1 and to 25% on Oct. 1, the White House said.

“Tariffs will permanently remain at the 25 percent level unless and until Mexico substantially stops the illegal inflow of aliens coming through its territory,” the statement read.

During a visit to Canada on Thursday to promote the trade deal, Vice President Mike Pence voiced optimism, vowing it would be passed this year. Asked by reporters about the impact of possible new tariffs, Pence said that both Mexico and Congress need to do more and that Trump is resolved to make them happen.

“The President is absolutely determined to use the authorities that he has as president to call on the Congress and to call on Mexico to do more to address this humanitarian crisis on our southern border,” Pence said.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/05/30/trump-announces-new-mexican-tariffs-until-illegal-immigration-problem-is-remedied/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/05/31/trump-announces-new-mexican-tariffs-until-illegal-immigration-problem-is-remedied/

[talldrink-o-h2o]

Travel: Sharing Clothes

Sharing clothes wasn’t a thing I did when I was younger. I was always a lot taller than the other girls in my grade, graduating into junior cloths before I was ten, so practically speaking, it was hard to find anyone with clothes to fit my gangly limbs. Also, I’m pretty sure my mom would have killed me if I had let someone borrow any one of my American Eagle sweaters only to have that person spill on it, or, worse yet, shrink it in the dryer. And don’t get me started on lol the ways me borrowing someone’s clothing could go wrong. Did I want to use my allowance money to replace a shirt? Sure didn’t. So to this day, the concept of sharing clothes with others remains a foreign concept to me.

But at Biddy’s daughter’s birthday party this past September, all of my hesitation with sharing clothes was thrown out the window. September in Minnesota is a crap shoot weather-wise. Earlier in the week, temperatures had dropped into the 50s. Biddy sent emails warning people to dress accordingly, since it would be held outside regardless. Hating to be cold, I showed up that day in a light sweater and a pair of jeans. And of course, it turned out to be beautiful: 80 and sunny, not a cloud in the sky nor a breeze in the air. In short, I wasn’t cold at all; on the contrary, I was sweating. A fact which I let everyone around me know. 

Stacy, also at the party and likely annoyed by my complaints, stepped in to solve my problem. She took me into Biddy’s closet and chose a shirt for me to change into. The shirt? A Run DMC band tee. Lightweight and all around cool looking, perfect for a three-year-old’s birthday party. 

The borrowing of the shirt led to a series of events where every time I saw Biddy thereafter, I either completely forgot I had the t-shirt, or, more annoyingly put it next to my purse as I was going to leave, and forgot it on the table. Each time I’d see Biddy, I’d apologize for forgetting her shirt, a big no-no in my mind, but Biddy would laugh it off, reminding me she’s pregnant and therefore not about to wear the t-shirt any time soon. 

So, since I still had the shirt a few months later, and I think it’s pretty legit, I decided to wear it on my way to a Miami weekend with Pam in November. Which Miami in November is 80, not unlike the day of Sloane’s party. Minnesota in November is 30. I balanced the dual climate by wearing the t-shirt, ripped denim, booties, and a leather jacket on the plane.

I arrived at the hotel an hour before check-in. Apparently this hotel really adhered to its policies and wouldn’t let me into a room early. I took the opportunity to inquire about a late checkout, since Pam and I both had evening flights on Sunday. I was told I would have to call the morning of and it was based on availability; she advised I call as early as possible Sunday morning.

After spewing all of this information at me, unsolicited, she pointed me in the direction of the hotel’s restaurant bathroom where she suggested I change into something more appropriate, direction which I happily accepted.  

After a quick bathroom selfie to send to Biddy of the shirt, I changed and dropped my bags off with Kenny, the bellman, who had witnessed my movements since arrival. 

”Where are you coming from?” He asked. 

”Minnesota.” 

“Really?! I love Minnesota! They have my favorite hockey team.” Seeing the questioning look on my face, Kenny clarified that he loves the University of Minnesota’s hockey team, not the Minnesota Wild, which made more sense, but still seemed random.

Regardless, Kenny checked my bag and no sooner had I sat down at the hotel bar than did Pam walk in. She changed in the same bathroom, checked her bags with Kenny, and joined me at the bar fo are celebratory glass of champagne. 

When we got into our room forty minutes later, I did what I always do for any trip greater than two days: unpack. That’s right. I’m the person who actually uses the drawers provided and all the hangers in the closet. I once read an interview of a female executive who travels frequently who said her goal is to pack efficiently and wear each item at least once. This rule made sense to me and I judge my acting the same way. Over the course of any stay, I will re-pack each item after it’s been worn so that by the last day all that’s left is what I will wear on the plane.

Over the course of the weekend, Pam and I acted as we always do. We flitted around the city with no real agenda but always finding entertainment. Each time we ventured through the lobby, we’d stop to say hi to our boy Kenny, who over the course of the weekend shared more and more of himself. For instance, when I told him how tall I am, he found it important that I know he once dated a volleyball player in college who happened to be exactly my height. He also felt the need to let us know about his semi-professional hockey career - hence his love of Minnesota. 

On our last night in town, Pam suggested we actually stay out late. You see, we had come back before midnight the other two nights. We rose to the challlenge and stayed out until close to 6AM, dancing the night away at the Faena hotel.

I awoke with a jolt Sunday morning at 10AM. I was in no position to be awake and there was no way we were going to be in a position to leave in two hours. We needed that late checkout. Based on how stingy they were with the early check-in, I was concerned I might be too late. So in my half-sober state, I fumbled to the phone, called the front desk, and got immediately denied my request for a late check-out. Turns out we should have called down at 7AM. 

Now, more or less awake, I hopped into the shower, and then proceeded to get ready, packing hastily. I had broken all of my packing goals this trip, and, whereas, normally on my last day of a trip I’ve pretty much re-packed everything, in this case, after coming home each night in varying degrees of sober, I had failed to re-pack anything. Tack on to that the fact that I brought way more than I could wear and that we felt the need to buy shoes one of the days, our hotel room was a mess. 

And while we didn’t have a late checkout, it didn’t change the fact that we didn’t need to leave for the airport until 4. Meaning we had pretty much all day ahead of us, so I needed clothes appropriate for brunch, a swimsuit for the pool, and then my Run DMC shirt and jeans for the plane.

Except, I couldn’t find my Run DMC shirt or jeans. Fearing what my mom would say in this moment, I was now wide awake and on high alert. The following thoughts went through my mind:

Was I really going to have to fly home in shorts? I had no other pants with me and the radar predicted snow in Minnesota.

Was I going to have to ask Stacy to re-order me the jeans, a pair that was obviously made for my gangly limbs since they were the perfect length and just the right amount of distressing?

And, most importantly, was I going to have to tell Biddy I lost the t-shirt I had borrowed without her permission, kept forgetting to return, and then brazenly took with me to Miami?

Pam was only starting to move as my crisis was unfolding. I filled her in on the situation and wracked my brain for where the clothes could be, most concerned with Biddy’s shirt. And then I had it! I must have left them in the bathroom when I changed that first day.  

After leaving our room right at noon, we found Kenny to hold our bags for the day. “Kenny,” I started in. “I lost something.” 

”What?” He asked, genuinely concerned. 

”My kidney,” I responded. I can’t help but go for a joke, especially when I’m not entirely sober. “No, but seriously, I can’t find a shirt and jeans that I brought.” I went on to tell him about my bathroom theory. 

He told me they had a lost and found, which wouldn’t help my kidney situation, but might with the clothes. He set off on his mission to find them for me. Meanwhile, Pam and I plunked down at a table for brunch in the restaurant not far from the bathroom. 

Kenny stopped by our table to ask for specifics on the clothing. I remembered the picture I had taken and pulled up the bathroom selfie to show him. I texted him the picture, instructing him to show it to housekeeping. Turns out selfies can be helpful. He left us again, heading back to housekeeping. 

After Pam stopped laughing about the fact that I had taken a bathroom selfie - of course I did - we fell into a lull, the exhaustion creeping in. My mind drifted to the fact that I needed to run, desperately, to work off this weekend. I then remembered that I had brought running clothes that I never used nor did I remember packing them either this morning. Which is when it hit me. I had unpacked the running clothes and my plane outfit and put them in the dresser drawer during a more sober period that weekend. By God! They were in the room we had just checked out of! 

I looked around for Kenny, but couldn’t find him. Instead, I went to the front desk to tell the young dude behind it of my plight. As I was doing so, Kenny walked by, whom I immediately flagged over to tell him to call off the troops. Both men stared at me like I was nuts - which, in fairness, I kind of was. 

”Wait,” the dude behind the desk interrupted. “You actually unpack in a hotel room?” 

Really? That’s the takeaway here? 

Ultimately Kenny took me upstairs to the room. It had yet to be cleaned so there remained a shopping bag from the shoes that I threw all my clothes into. 

And of course, it’s now March and I still have Biddy’s shirt because I continue to forget to return it. But the important point is that I have the t-shirt and that I didn’t have to fly back to the snow in shorts.