#Cuban protests

[minnesotafollower]

Another Perspective on the Failure of the Cuban Economy

Emilio Morales, a Cuban-American and President & CEO of Havana Consulting Group, a Miami-based consulting firm specializing in market intelligence and strategy for U.S. and non-U.S. persons doing business in Cuba, offers a blistering appraisal of the current status of the Cuban economy.[1] He begins his article with the following statement: “The Cuban government’s announcement that it is in a…

[plethoraworldatlas]

There are some big protests going on in Cuba right now over the living crisis. It's gotten bad; Over 425,000 Cubans have migrated to the US in just the last two years. That's 4% of Cuba's population in 2 years.

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

You ever want to write a fallout isekai fic and then get so sidetracked by the divergence in history between our world and the fallout universe that you start listening to songs about the Vietnam War?

[manwalksintobar]

Black Woman (Mujer Negra) // Nancy Morejón

Still I smell the foam of the sea which they made me cross.  The night, I cannot remember it.  Not even the ocean itself could remember it.  But I do not forget the first gannet I made out.  High, the clouds, like innocent eyewitnesses.  Perhaps I have not forgotten either my lost coast, or my ancestral tongue.  They left me here and here I have lived.  And because I worked like a beast, here I was born again, And I sought to rely on epic story of the Mandinga after epic story.

                                     I rebelled.

His Honour bought me in a square,  I embroidered His Honour’s coat and gave birth to a son for him.  My son had no name  And His Honour, he died at the hands of an impeccable English lord.

                                  I walked.

This is the land in which I suffered beatings and floggings.  I rowed the length of all its rivers.  Under its sun I sowed, I reaped and I did not eat the harvests.  For a house I had a shack.  I myself brought stones to build it, but I sang to the natural beat of the national birds.

                                 I rose up.

In this same land I touched the humid blood  and the rotted bones of many others,  brought to it, or not, the same as I.  By then I did not imagine the way to Guinea any more.  Was it to Guinea? To Benin? Was it to Madagascar? Or to Cape Verde?

                               I worked much harder.

I laid better foundations for my millennial song and my hope. Here I built my world.

                               I went off to the mountains.

My real independence was the Palenque and I rode among the troops of Maceo. Only a century later,  together with my descendants,  from a blue mountain,  I came down from the Sierra. to put an end to capitalists and usurers,  to generals and the bourgeoisie.  Now I am: Only today do we have and create.  Nothing is outside our reach.  Ours the land.  Ours the sea and the sky.  Ours magic and the chimera.  My equals, here I watch them dance  around the tree we planted for communism.  Its prodigious wood already resounds.

(translated from the Spanish by Jean Andrews)

[aiiaiiiyo]

[cultreslut]

grupo de experimentación sonor del instituto cubano del arte e industria cinematográficos (ICAIC), cuba va ! songs of the new generation of revolutionary cuba, 1971

archive.org / discogs

[millionmovieproject]

In this episode, Nicolette and Jared have a great conversation about the growing protest movement in support of the Palestinian people, university ties to the military industrial complex, how the US is losing its status as a global power by lacking investment in its own people, and how according to history, the US is on the cusp of a proletariat revolution.

[lefemmerougewriter]

“I am not heartless, Ms. Eros, I only want what is best for the Joabanan people. I refuse to give the reactionary Joabanans in this country any credibility. Their opinions are worthless, and they are very hostile to people of color…why give them more power?”- Elena Castillo Flores

Elena refutes Adora's arguments about the Cuban, I mean Joabanan, people in my recent fic, "Joabana and the Specter of Doofatanian Intervention"!

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

this is your daily reminder that it's been over 65 years since cuba overthrew batista's US-backed fascist dictatorship and the US is STILL keeping cuba in extreme poverty using an "embargo."

back in the 1950s, using US funds and US-trained soldiers, batista (not castro) removed most of cubans' rights, including the right to strike, censored all media, and used secret police to torture and publicly excute anyone who protested his dictatorship. In a document released by the CIA in 2005, it stated as many as 20,000 people were killed. In return, batista gave control of most of the arable land to the US. during the revolution, this land was reclaimed and redistributed, which means that USAmericans can now sue anyone who "traffics" in this "confiscated" property.

Despite US sanctions being an "embargo," the US also fines foreign companies for doing business in Cuba, meaning it's effectively a blockade. Despite Obama lightening some of these restrictions, Biden has done little to undo the tightened policies from Trump's administration.

In November, the UN called for the 31st time (!!!) for the US blockade to end, supported by 187 countries and opposed only by the US and its bestest buddy (I'll let you guess who).

Cuba has been in economic crisis for years. Monthly income in Cuba is $30-60. There is very little food and it is hard to purchase anything like toiletries, clothes, and over-the-counter medicines. Domestic production is down because they don't have the resources to sustain them. The US has been intentionally impoverishing and starving Cuba for decades, and they continue to make it clear that it is not going to stop.

So, yeah. US democracy is a joke, end the US blockade on Cuba, and fuck genocide joe.

[keepthedelta]

I feel like the F1 film should be a comedy not whatever it is at the moment

for me, i think if you're going to do a serious f1 film, and make it dramatic etc. etc. you should probably respect the sport enough to make it even semi-accurate which they clearly haven't done. and if you're not going to respect the sport enough to make it accurate then you should lean into the absurdist humour inherent in f1.

because this is, objectively, a ridiculous sport. one of the sports oldest and most historic teams is essentially a genuine competitor to the catholic church in terms of italian devotion, and another uses excel to keep track of car parts. one time the drivers went on strike and slept together in a banquet hall filled with mattresses and played piano and made mpreg jokes. some of f1's most iconic figures have played characters in asterix or cars. drivers have thrown juice all over each other during a press conference, and showed up in helicopters to wake each other up in the morning. one of the most dominant forces in modern f1 is an energy drink company. multiple current drivers have instagrams for their pets where they pretend their pets can talk. drivers have shown up to track walks in their pyjamas to protest the early hour and then found out that the track was still being resurfaced. one driver once tried to push his car over the finish line and then fainted from heat exhaustion. it literally used to be run by an evil goblin and the son of a famous british fascist. one time a diamond was glued to the nose of a car for a pr stunt and then the driver crashed and the diamond was never found again. one time one of the most famous and successful drivers of all time got kidnapped and held hostage by cuban revolutionaries, which mostly consisted of him being taken to dinner and signing autographs, and afterwards he was very positive about them. it's just a ridiculous sport in so many ways and a filmmaker could do so much with it if they were willing to lean into that, rather than trying to let brad pitt live out his inane fantasies

[ltash]

In the middle of the night pt-1

Your mom was dating Mr Riley, and you were staying as a guest in his house until Ghost decided to pay a visit.

Lots of slowburn in the chapter..

The quiet settled in like a heavy blanket, wrapping the room in a soft silence. You sat cross-legged in Mr. Riley's grand living room, surrounded by polished wood, high ceilings, and the kind of decor that whispered wealth and elegance in every corner. Your mother had only been dating him for a little over a month, but they'd already developed an easy bond. Colleagues by day, close friends after hours, their connection was undeniable. This was why you found yourself here tonight, waiting in his spacious home while they enjoyed a night out.

Dressed in a black jersey bodycon dress with a high, elegant turtleneck, you exuded sophistication. The diamond-studded Cuban link chain glistened against the neckline of your dress, catching the low lighting. You wore a matching bracelet, simple yet dazzling, a testament to your impeccable taste. Even sitting alone, you were the very picture of poise and confidence.

Absorbed in a magazine, you barely noticed how quiet the house had become. But the silence was suddenly interrupted by the sharp, unexpected sound of the doorbell cutting through the night. You frowned, glancing up from the page, your mind racing. It was late, and visitors at this hour were uncommon.

"Who could be here at this time?" You murmured to yourself.

Placing the magazine aside, you rose from the plush chair and made your way toward the front door. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the gleaming marble floor, and you adjusted the bracelet on your wrist as you approached the entrance. With a quick exhale, you turned the handle and opened the door, just enough to peek through.

Your breath caught as you took in the figure before you. A man filled the doorway, towering and imposing, his frame seemingly carved from stone. He wore a black skull-printed balaclava that partially obscured his face, making his eyes stand out beneath the dim light. He was dressed casually, yet powerfully, with a leather jacket thrown over a fitted shirt and dark jeans that outlined the sinewy strength of his legs. He held the straps of a duffle bag tightly in his gloved hands, and his posture radiated a certain readiness, as if he were used to having his presence respected without question.

You straightened your posture, raising a brow as you crossed your arms over your chest, unphased, or at least giving a good impression of it.

"Who are you?" you asked sharply, infusing your voice with just the right amount of sass as you snapped your fingers for emphasis.

The man's eyes narrowed, a spark of amusement flickering in their depths, though he seemed more interested in studying you than answering. He remained silent for a beat too long, his gaze locked on yours, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, like he was quietly amused.

"The question is, who are you?" he replied, his voice a deep rumble that held a hint of challenge.

You raised an eyebrow, not intimidated. "I'm Mr. Riley's guest. My mom's his colleague, and they're dating. So, no offence, but you're out of luck if you were hoping to see him tonight. He's out," you replied smoothly. "So, you can come back another time."

You moved to close the door, dismissing him with ease. But before you could fully shut it, his hand shot out, catching the edge with a strength that made the door stop in place. Startled, you tried pulling it back, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hey, wait! What are you doing?" you protested, an edge of alarm creeping into your tone as he pushed the door open wider, stepping into the house with the ease of someone who belonged.

The door clicked shut behind him as he regarded you, his gaze assessing. He took another step forward, and you instinctively took a step back, feeling the cold marble beneath your heels. His imposing figure loomed over you, but he didn't move aggressively. Instead, he reached out, and before you could react, he gently yet firmly took hold of your jaw, his gloved fingers grazing your skin.

Your breath hitched as he turned your face from side to side, his eyes travelling over your features with a calculating interest. He looked almost amused, like he'd found something unexpected in this encounter.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled softly, his voice low and edged with a kind of dark amusement that sent a shiver up your spine.

Heat flared in your cheeks, and you quickly slapped his hand away, taking a step back as you straightened your spine. You didn't let your composure falter, though your heart hammered in your chest.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you demanded, voice fierce and unwavering despite the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. "You can't just walk in here and act like you own the place. Get out before I call the cops."

The threat seemed to amuse him further. He chuckled, a sound deep and rich, and shook his head. "Relax, sweetheart," he drawled, the British accent unmistakable as it rolled off his tongue. His words were smooth, yet edged with a casual danger that made you uneasy. "Mr. Riley is my old man. Thought I'd pay him a visit, but I see he's out... otherwise occupied."

Realization dawned, and you froze as his words settled in. Mr. Riley's son. Your mother had mentioned him a few times, always with a certain admiration for his military service, but his name and details had been kept a mystery. It seemed that mystery was very much by design.

You collected yourself quickly, determined not to show any hint of intimidation. "Alright," you said, working to keep your tone steady. "Well, he's not here, so if you're really his son, you can either leave and come back, or..."

But before you could finish, he took another step closer, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The playful glint in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but now it was mingled with a darker edge, something that made your pulse quicken.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a low murmur as he held your gaze. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic, and the intensity of his stare made your heart beat even faster.

You clenched your jaw, lifting your chin defiantly. "Doesn't matter," you replied, voice laced with defiance. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he tilted his head as he regarded you, clearly entertained by your resistance. "Alright, then," he replied smoothly, a glint of amusement lingering in his eyes. "Guess I'll have to stick around a little longer, mystery girl. Nice to meet you."

He set the duffle bag down by his side, his gaze never leaving yours. It was clear that he had no intention of leaving anytime soon, and for the first time, you wondered just how long you might be sharing this empty house with the mysterious, dangerous son of Mr. Riley.

The tension in the room thickened as he sauntered over to the plush leather couch, his movements slow and deliberate. He dropped himself down with a relaxed confidence, sprawling across the cushions like he owned the place. His legs spread wide, his solid, muscular thighs straining against the fabric of his jeans. The pose was casual, but his eyes held an unmistakable glint of mischief. He was playing a game, daring you to react.

He leaned back, his arms draping across the back of the couch as he settled in, his gaze never leaving you. After a beat of silence, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Guess you aren't hospitable enough to ask if I'd like a drink," he drawled, his voice heavy with mock reproach. "No tea or coffee? Do you treat all your guests this way, sweetheart?"

The words dripped with sarcasm, and his tone was pure challenge, his eyes gleaming as he watched for your reaction. He was provoking you, seeing if you'd take the bait. The casual nickname, the mocking edge-it was all designed to get under your skin, and he was clearly enjoying every second.

You felt a surge of heat rush to your face as you stood there, stunned at his nerve. The audacity of him! Not only had he barged into the house uninvited, but now he had the gall to make demands? You were tempted to put him in his place, but something about the intensity in his gaze, the easy confidence of his posture, made you hesitate. Despite the anger simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel the pull of his magnetic presence, that dangerous charm he wielded so effortlessly.

But you weren't about to let him see that. Squaring your shoulders, you folded your arms, levelling him with a glare.

"What the hell?" you snapped, eyes narrowed. "You barge in here uninvited, act like you own the place, and now you expect me to serve you like I'm some kind of maid?"

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he held your gaze with an amused intensity. "Last I checked, I am family," he replied, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. "But maybe you're right. I might've overstepped. Or maybe..." His gaze dropped to the bracelet glinting on your wrist before returning to your face, "...you're just afraid you'll end up enjoying my company more than you think."

His voice was a deep, smooth murmur that sent a shiver up your spine despite every attempt you made to ignore it. He was playing with you, inching closer to see how you'd react, testing how far he could push.

The challenge in his words only fueled your defiance. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through you, sharpening your resolve. "You think too highly of yourself," you retorted, lifting your chin. "Just because you're Mr. Riley's son doesn't mean I owe you anything. You're just another rude stranger as far as I'm concerned."

His smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew sharper. He relaxed back into the couch, studying you with the quiet confidence of someone who wasn't used to being denied. There was something dangerous in his stare, but it was the kind of danger that drew you in rather than repelled you.

"Maybe," he said, after a pause. "But there's one thing you should know about me, sweetheart." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory whisper. "I don't take 'no' for an answer easily. Especially not when I've found something I'm... interested in."

The meaning was clear, but so was the hint of intrigue in his tone. His gaze lingered on you, a subtle but undeniable challenge glinting in his eyes, daring you to react.

You felt your pulse quicken, a rush of both anger and something else you couldn't quite name stirring inside you. You weren't about to let him win, but part of you wondered if you were playing a game you didn't fully understand.

"Then maybe it's time you learned to," you replied, holding his gaze with equal intensity. "Because I don't plan on humouring your attitude any longer."

His laugh was soft but genuine, like he was thoroughly enjoying the back-and-forth. "You've got fire," he remarked, tilting his head slightly as if he were sizing you up, as if you were an unexpected surprise in a familiar game. "I like that."

The intensity in the air was almost tangible, like a taut wire stretched between you, sparking with every word, every look. His gaze softened just slightly, enough to reveal a hint of interest that went beyond simple amusement.

"I think I'll stick around a while," he said finally, settling further into the couch, still holding your gaze with that infuriatingly calm confidence. "Mr. Riley isn't back yet, after all. And besides..." His eyes travelled over you slowly, his smile widening as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks. "...something tells me the night just got a lot more interesting."

You stood there, torn between frustration and intrigue, watching the smirk dance on his lips. He wasn't going anywhere. That much was clear. And even though you wanted to resist every bit of his smug charm, there was something about the way he looked at you, the ease with which he held his ground, that was both maddening and thrilling.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Fine," you said. "If you're staying, then you're on your own. I'm not getting you anything."

"Suit yourself," he replied, his smirk never faltering. He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the couch once more, settling in as if he'd just won some unspoken game. And as you turned on your heel, heading back to the chair you'd abandoned, you could feel his gaze on you, lingering, unrelenting, and full of promise for a night that was only beginning.

You watched, incredulous, as he pushed himself up from the couch and sauntered past you, his shoulders brushing close as he moved toward the kitchen. He had the same easy confidence, the same smugness, that had set your nerves on edge since the moment he walked through the door. You were rooted to the spot for a moment, caught between surprise and annoyance as you watched him open cupboards, pulling out plates and rummaging through the contents of the fridge as if he owned the place.

He moved with practised ease, grabbing some bread, deli meat, and cheese, and setting it all on the counter. With a small smirk, he began assembling a sandwich, and when he reached over to flick the switch on the electric kettle, you couldn't stay silent any longer.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice laced with disbelief as you crossed your arms and shot him a withering glare.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his expression completely unbothered, that irritating glint of amusement still present in his eyes. "Can't you see?" he replied smoothly, his tone mocking as he sliced a piece of bread. "You didn't bother to offer me anything, so the guest must help himself."

The way he said it, like it was a perfectly reasonable response, made your frustration bubble over. "Are you for real?" You shot back, rolling your eyes in exasperation. "Look, dude, come what may, I'm not about to offer you a single drop of water. Make your sandwich and be done with it."

He let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by your irritation. "Such hospitality," he murmured, shaking his head as he spread a thin layer of mustard over the bread. "You must be a real joy to live with."

"Luckily for you, you don't live with me," you snapped, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, unwilling to let him get away with his smugness. "I don't owe you anything, and I don't have to wait on your hand and foot just because you waltzed in here unannounced."

He took a slow sip of the tea he'd just poured, his eyes narrowing in challenge as he met your gaze over the rim of the cup. "True," he said, setting the cup down with a clink. "But there's something called common courtesy. Or have you always been this spoiled?"

You felt a spark of anger at his words, your cheeks heating as you straightened your posture. "Spoiled? You're one to talk! You just invited yourself in, started acting like you own the place, and now you're standing in the kitchen, making demands like I'm your personal chef."

He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich as he leaned against the counter, utterly unperturbed. "I figured you'd offer me something eventually," he replied, giving a lazy smile that only fueled your annoyance further. "But since you didn't, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Besides..." He let his gaze travel over you, assessing a hint of that dark humour still glinting in his eyes. "...I've dealt with far more difficult situations than this. A little attitude doesn't scare me."

Your mouth opened in a mixture of disbelief and indignation. "Unbelievable," you muttered, throwing your hands up. "I swear, you're the most arrogant, self-entitled-"

Before you could finish, he held up a finger, silencing you with a cool, almost teasing expression. "Temper, temper," he chided softly, his voice like a warning wrapped in silk. "It's not becoming of such a... polished young lady, now is it?"

The deliberate condescension in his tone, the way he seemed to be enjoying every flicker of irritation you showed, only fueled your frustration. You felt trapped in his gaze, unable to look away as he took another bite of his sandwich, his movements maddeningly calm, as if he were watching an amusing spectacle.

"Maybe if you weren't so infuriating," you replied icily, "I wouldn't be so annoyed. Ever think of that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as if you'd missed some joke. "I'm simply getting to know my father's... interesting house guest," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts. "But if you'd rather be alone, sweetheart, just say the word. I'll leave you to your magazine and quiet little life."

The comment struck a nerve, and you glared back at him, your voice sharp. "You're making a lot of assumptions, aren't you?"

His expression didn't waver, though his gaze softened slightly, just enough to hint at something unreadable beneath the surface. "Maybe," he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he held your gaze. "But I'm rarely wrong."

The words hung in the air between you, charged with a tension that felt almost tangible. For a moment, you weren't sure whether to keep arguing or walk away, but something in his expression, in the intensity of his stare, made it hard to pull back. It was as if he was daring you, testing just how much resolve you had.

You finally tore your gaze away, clenching your fists as you fought to regain your composure. "Fine," you said, your voice calm but edged with steel. "Do whatever you want. Just don't expect me to roll out the red carpet."

With that, you turned on your heel, determined to put some distance between you and the arrogant, infuriating man who seemed to take pleasure in pushing every one of your buttons. But as you walked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, a lingering gaze that held a promise of more to come, leaving you both unsettled and strangely intrigued.

Frustrated and flustered, you had stormed off down the hallway, letting the silence of the empty house settle around you as you tried to cool down. Your footsteps slowed as you came to a door at the end of the hall, its dark wood polished and imposing. Without really thinking, you pushed it open, stepping into a room bathed in deep shades of charcoal and black, the walls and furnishings exuding a quiet, masculine elegance.

A faint scent lingered in the air-something earthy and clean, almost intoxicating. The heavy curtains were drawn partway, allowing a sliver of moonlight to spill across the room, illuminating the sleek, minimal decor. A large bed, neatly made with dark grey sheets, stood in the centre, flanked by matching nightstands. You found yourself inexplicably drawn to the space, its quiet allure enveloping you as you wandered in.

Before you knew it, you'd settled onto the edge of the bed, your fingers absently tracing the texture of the comforter. The room was strikingly different from the rest of the house, yet it somehow felt familiar. You took a deep breath, letting the stillness calm your racing thoughts, a sense of privacy washing over you that you hadn't felt all evening.

Then, footsteps. Heavy, confident, each step resonating through the floor. Your pulse quickened as you glanced up, only to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you sitting on his bed.

"Hey!" You blurted, standing up hastily. "You can't just come in here."

He smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze unwavering as he crossed his arms. "Why not?" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This is my bedroom. I can come here anytime I want."

Your heart skipped a beat, caught between defiance and the sudden realization that you'd accidentally wandered into his personal space. Before you could respond, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that made you instinctively take a step back.

"Didn't expect you to make yourself so... comfortable," he remarked, his gaze flicking to the bed you'd been sitting on just moments before.

"It was an accident," you muttered, feeling a flush rise in your cheeks. "I didn't know this was your room."

He shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect his presence had on you. "Doesn't seem like you're in any hurry to leave."

His casual tone, his easy smirk-it all made you want to throw something, but you stood your ground, determined not to let him see how he was getting under your skin. "Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet," you shot back, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent an unexpected warmth through you. Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall over the back of a nearby chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, and as he reached down to untie his boots, the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, emphasizing every powerful line of muscle beneath. You felt your mouth go dry, and you quickly looked away, your pulse pounding in your ears as you tried to ignore the heat that crept up your neck.

When he finally straightened, he met your gaze, his eyes sharp and knowing, as if he'd caught every flicker of reaction you were so desperately trying to hide. He took a step closer, and despite yourself, you felt rooted to the spot, your resolve wavering as he closed the distance between you.

"Seems like you're having a hard time keeping your cool," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You crossed your arms defensively, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "You're imagining things," you replied, though even you could hear the slight unsteadiness in your voice.

He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Am I?"

He was close now, close enough that you could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes held that glint of challenge you'd come to both dread and anticipate. His presence filled the room, demanding your attention, and despite everything, you found yourself drawn to him, caught between the urge to push him away and the inexplicable pull he seemed to have on you.

"Maybe I'm imagining things," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Or maybe you're just not as unaffected as you pretend to be."

You swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight. You wanted to fire back with something sharp, something that would deflate his confidence, but the words caught in your throat as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered for just a moment, the warmth of his touch igniting a spark that left you breathless.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a murmur against your ear. "You know, you can walk out anytime," he said, his tone laced with that infuriating challenge.

The words jolted you, breaking the spell as you took a step back, forcing a shaky laugh. "Don't flatter yourself," you managed, though your voice was a bit weaker than you'd have liked. "I'm leaving right now."

You turned to head for the door, but you felt his gaze on you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he already knew that you weren't unaffected, that maybe he'd left an impression deeper than you wanted to admit.

As you reached for the door handle, you barely had time to react before his hand closed around your arm, pulling you back toward him with a firm, unyielding grip. The movement was swift, almost instinctual, and before you knew it, you'd collided against the solid warmth of his chest. The impact left you momentarily breathless, the feel of his strength pressing against you, making your pulse race.

You looked up, your face mere inches from his, your breath catching as your gaze met his intense, unyielding stare. The amusement and mockery that had marked his expression earlier were gone, replaced by something deeper, something that sent a thrill through you even as you tried to resist it.

"Let go of me," you managed, though your voice was quieter than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

His hold didn't loosen. If anything, his fingers tightened slightly around your arm, his other hand moving to rest against the small of your back, anchoring you to him as if daring you to pull away.

"Funny," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent a shiver through you. "You're the one who wandered into my room. And now you're trying to leave so quickly?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The nearness of him, the way his hand pressed against your back, steady and possessive, was dizzying. You could feel the rapid beat of your own heart, the conflicting impulses to push him away, and to pull him even closer, warring within you.

"You act like you're annoyed," he continued softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "But something tells me you don't really want me to let go."

A rush of defiance surged through you, but the intensity of his gaze, the magnetic pull between you, made it impossible to look away. Every nerve felt heightened, every sense attuned to him, his presence surrounding you, consuming you. You could feel his grip relax just slightly, his fingers still resting on your arm as if waiting, letting you decide if you wanted to stay or if you would pull away.

For a moment, you just stood there, suspended in that charged silence, your heart pounding, your breath shallow. The logical part of you screamed to walk out of the room to end whatever this was before it spiralled further out of control. But something deeper held you there, drawn to him, as if you were caught in a current too powerful to escape.

Finally, you found your voice, your defiance flickering even as your resolve wavered. "You really think you know everything, don't you?"

A slow, confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his hand shifted slightly, brushing the bare skin of your arm in a way that sent a shiver racing through you. "I know enough," he replied softly, his tone both a challenge and an invitation.

In that moment, standing in the shadows of his room, the world outside felt far away, and all that mattered was the electric tension between you, the unspoken possibilities lingering in the air.

You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly, meeting his intense gaze with a glare of your own. "What, you think I'm just going to let you win?" You hissed, the challenge clear in your voice. You could feel your heart pounding as the tension between you thickened, crackling like a storm ready to break.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that confident, maddening expression that made you both furious and drawn to him all at once. He leaned in, his gaze never wavering, his eyes dark with something that sent a thrill through you despite your best efforts to ignore it.

"I always win," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air around you, "all my wars, all my battles. So you'd better decide to lose it, sweetheart. Makes it easier that way."

The words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a warning all at once, and the closeness between you felt even more charged. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his grip still light on your arm, as if daring you to test his resolve. There was a glint in his eyes, that subtle edge of challenge that sparked something fierce within you-a determination not to let him have the last word, not this time.

"Maybe you haven't met your match yet," you replied, your voice steady, though the quickening of your pulse betrayed the thrill his words had sparked.

He chuckled softly, the sound dark and rich, and leaned in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Careful," he whispered, his voice like silk, his gaze never leaving yours. "You might find that losing isn't as bad as you think."

The moment he removed the mask, your breath hitched. His face, so impossibly handsome, so raw in its intensity, made your heart skip a beat. The lines of his jaw were sharp, defined, and his eyes were dark, smouldering with a predatory gleam that sent a rush of heat through your entire body. His gaze locked onto yours, a silent understanding passing between you as his smirk deepened.

For the first time, you felt that guard of yours slip away, crumbling under the weight of his presence. Everything you had told yourself about pushing him away, keeping your distance, fell apart in the face of his undeniable allure.

He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, sending a wave of warmth that made it harder to breathe. His lips were so close, just inches from yours, and his words, low and taunting, slid like velvet into your ears.

"Just give in to me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I'll show you the height of forbidden pleasures. I'll worship your body all night long, make you scream my name all night."

You could feel his breath hot against your ear, and before you could stop yourself, his teeth grazed your earlobe. The sensation was electric. Your knees buckled, your body betraying you as a soft gasp of pleasure escaped your lips, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The air between you grew thick, charged with tension, as if the entire room held its breath. The power dynamic shifted, and for a moment, you felt as though you were at his mercy, your body responding to him in ways you hadn't anticipated. You could hardly think straight, the heat of his touch, the way his words wrapped around you, making everything else fade into the background.

But even as your body reacted, as your breath grew faster and your mind swirled with desire, something inside you still fought. You couldn't just give in. Not like this. Not so easily.

"Stop," you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, a poor attempt at defiance. You placed a hand on his chest, but it was more out of instinct than strength, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You're playing with fire," you whispered, though a part of you wasn't sure if you were still trying to warn him or yourself.

His grin only widened as if he'd expected this, as if this moment of resistance only fueled the desire to break down every last wall you had left.

"We'll see who gets burned, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your neck, sending another shiver through your body.

You were intoxicated, already succumbing and losing the battle you weren't even meant to fight.

[minnesotafollower]

Cuban Reactions to Anniversary of 7/11/21 Protests

“There are still hundreds of participants serving sentences despite calls from democratic governments, the Vatican, the UN, Amnesty International and other international organizations, and in the midst of a political-economic context much worse than the one that caused that outbreak.”[1] Yet “protests in Cuba do not cease. The last year has left other large-scale demonstrations in Bayamo, Granma;…

[transmutationisms]

i think you do a really impressive job balancing comprehensive/concise while referencing a lot of complex frameworks(contexts? schools of thought? lol idk what to call that. big brain ideas) but if you have any readings specifically on the institution of psychiatry topic that you would recommend/think are relevant, I'd be interested. it's absolutely not a conversation that's being had enough and I want to be able to articulate myself around it

yes i have readings >:)

first of all, the anti-psychiatry bibliography and resource guide is a great place to start getting oriented in this literature. it's split by sub-topic, and there are paragraphs interspersed throughout that give summaries of major thinkers' positions and short intros to key texts.

it's from 1979, though, so here are some recs from the last 4 decades:

overview critiques

mind fixers: psychiatry's troubled search for the biology of mental illness, by anne harrington

psychiatric hegemony: a marxist theory of mental illness, by bruce m z cohen

desperate remedies: psychiatry's turbulent quest to cure mental illness, by andrew scull

psychiatry and its discontents, by andrew scull

madness is civilization: when the diagnosis was social, 1948–1980, by michael e staub

contesting psychiatry: social movements in mental health, by nick crossley

the dsm & pharmacy

dsm: a history of psychiatry's bible, by allan v horwitz

the dsm-5 in perspective: philosophical reflections on the psychiatric babel, by steeves demazeux & patrick singy

pharmageddon, by david healy

pillaged: psychiatric medications and suicide risk, by ronald w maris

the making of dsm-iii: a diagnostic manual's conquest of american psychiatry, by hannah s decker

the myth of the chemical cure: a critique of psychiatric drug treatment, by joanna moncrieff

the book of woe: the dsm and the unmaking of psychiatry, by gary greenberg

prozac on the couch: prescribing gender in the era of wonder drugs, by jonathan metzl

the creation of psychopharmacology, by david healy

the bitterest pills: the troubling story of antipsychotic drugs, by joanna moncrieff

psychiatry & race

the protest psychosis: how schizophrenia became a black disease, by jonathan metzl

administrations of lunacy: racism and the haunting of american psychiatry at the milledgeville asylum, by mab segrest

the peculiar institution and the making of modern psychiatry, 1840–1880, by wendy gonaver

what's wrong with the poor? psychiatry, race, and the war on poverty, by mical raz

national and cross-national contexts

mad by the millions: mental disorders and the early years of the world health organization, by harry yi-jui wu

psychiatry and empire, by sloan mahone & megan vaughan

ʿaṣfūriyyeh: a history of madness, modernity, and war in the middle east, by joelle m abi-rached

surfacing up: psychiatry and social order in colonial zimbabwe, 1908–1968, by lynette jackson

the british anti-psychiatrists: from institutional psychiatry to the counter-culture, 1960–1971, by oisín wall

crime, madness, and politics in modern france: the medical concept of national decline, by robert a nye

reasoning against madness: psychiatry and the state in rio de janeiro, 1830–1944, by manuella meyer

colonial madness: psychiatry in french north africa, by richard keller

madhouse: psychiatry and politics in cuban history, by jennifer lynn lambe

depression in japan: psychiatric cures for a society in distress, by junko kitanaka

inheriting madness: professionalization and psychiatric knowledge in 19th century france, by ian r dowbiggin

mad in america: bad science, bad medicine, and the enduring mistreatment of the mentally ill, by robert whitaker

[thebreakfastgenie]

Feel free to make the case for something I didn't include!

[lookingforhappy]

credit to prop maker Mikela Barnes. transcript:

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA INFINITUM STANDARD REFERENCE K KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX is a group of communists said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. HARGREEVES, VANYA: A Soviet spy and founding member of the The Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assignation of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though no date of birth is known, education and medical records place Vanya Hargreeves in Saint Petersburg, Russia, as early as 1947. Official reports released by the CIA, FBI, and U.S. Department of Defense provide evidence of Ms. Hargreeves' involvement in the establishment of Sovier Satellite Stats, during which time she is said to have contact with American Double Agent and member of The Kennedy Six, Luther Hargreeves. The extent of their familial relationship remains unconfirmed.

HARGREEVES, DIEGO: A known Communist sympathiser with ties to the Cuban government and a founding member of The Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Once thought to be a sleeper agent for the Cuban government who was smuggled into the country as a baby and raised to become radicalized against U.S. democracy from an early age, his true origin remains unknown due to a lack of official records of his birth or origin. The FBI can only officially place him in the United States as [picture of Allison protesting in the 60s] Allison Hargreeves, a Communist Sympathiser who infiltrated the American Civil Rights Movement. Infinitm Archive 230 [picture of Viktor and Diego's mugshots from the 60s, Diego is edited to have an eyepatch on his left eye] Vanya Hargreeves (left) and Diego Hargreeves (right) were previously arrested for suspicious activity. Infinitum Archive early as 1963. According to official reports from the CIA, he is believe to have been an expert in covert radio communication and a disgraced former high-ranking intelligence officer for the Cuban government. It is rumoured that he lost an eye in Cuba in a cigar attack as punishment for compromising an intelligence operation. His association with The Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf of the Cuban government and their interest in removing Kennedy from office by whatever means necessary. While the FBI and other federal law enforcement agencies have been unable to prove this connects, unofficial reports place him in Cuba shortly before his arrival in Dallas and eventual rendezvous with his co-conspirators. His whereabouts to this day are unknown, though he is widely believed to be in hiding in Cuba. HARGREEVES, ALLISON: as an American born civil agitator recruited by radical terror groups to infiltrate the American Civil Rights Movement in an attempt to disrupt and discredit the country's Federal Government. A hairdresser by trade, Allison Hargreeves sought to use her position in local politics to lure John F. Kennedy to Texas, setting up the 35th President for assasssination on November 22nd, 1963. Though any direct involvement with The Kennedy Six remains unsubstantiated, photos and letters exchanged between Hargreeves and prominent African-American militant groups have been used by Federal Authorities to establish a teritary connection to several known domestic terror cells that had been operating within The United States between 1961 and 1963. Allison Hargreeves is believed to have been captured by the CIA in 1979, after serving only one year of her 45-year prison sentence she was released for unknown reasons. To this day, her whereabouts remain unknown.

KENNEDY SIX NUMBER FIVE: Known only by his KGB Code name, Number Five is assumed to be the youngest member of the Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though existing records remain seal uner the US Espionage Act, Number Five is widelt known to have been hand-picked by First Secretary of The USSR, Nikia Khrushchev, to recruit American citizens in the effort to collect sensitive political and military information as relating to the United States policy of Communist Containment. A Federal Grand Jury issued and indictment for Number Five's arrest in December 1963. The indictment remains open.

HARGREEVES, KLAUS: A prominent religious leader of an influential cult movement and believed to be a member of The Kennedy Six, which is said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Initially beleived to be a recruitment camo and training facility for potential radicals, his religious movements was investigated by federal authroities, and while no evidence of the latter was ever obtained, the organistation was levied with heavy fines amidst numerous charges of mail fraud, wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Despite being an enigmatic public figure, very little is known about Hargreeves beyond the eccentrics peculiatrites of his public life. At one point, he was believed to be in possession of the largest private collection of Cadillacs in the world. According to FBI reports, his vast amount of resources and influence made him a prime candidate to recruit, radicalise and mobilise potential enemires of the state. It is not known at what point or how he first began working with The Kennedy Six, and his whereabouts remain unknown to this day. HARGREEVES, LUTHER: An American double agent and former boxer with connections to several mafia crime families, and a member of the Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. According to reports from the FBI, CIA and U.S. Department of Defense, Luther Hargreeves was an agent and known associate of Jack Ruby, and his involvement in the Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf [picture of Five, edited to be dressed in military uniform] One of the only known images of KGB codename "Number Five", the youngest member of the Kennedy Sic. Infinitum Archive. of organised crime interests, which at the time stood in stark contrast to Kennedy's priorities. Pictured here with his signature firearm, he was known as a brutal killer with a penchant for violence. He spent several years on the FBI's most wanted list and is believed by the CIA to have worked with Soviet spies. While his motives remain a mystery to this day, his connection to known Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, has lead historians to a consensus on the prevailing theory surrounding his involvement of the Kennedy assassination: A coordination of mutual interests shared between Soviers and the American mafia. Authorities remain in pursuit of him to this day, though he was rumoured to have perished in a robbery near his Argentinian hideout sometime in the mid 1980's. [picture of Luther and Klaus' mugshots, likely edited] Luther Hargreeves (left) an American double agent and Klaus Hargreeves (right) a prominent religous leader. Infinitum Archive 231

KENOSHA COOPER, SISSY: A known associate of The Kennedy Six. Believed to have been recruited by Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, in the effort to assassinate John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. While her exact role in the assassination plot remains unknown, she is suspected of becoming radicalised through manipulation or coercian by Vanya Hargreeves and her terrorist co-conspirators. Having lived a relatively normal suburban life before the assassination, Cooper's life took a dramatic turn around the time Kennedy was killed, Cooper appeared on the FBI's most wanted list for the murder of her husband, Carl Cooper, in 1963 and her alleged connection to the Kennedy assassination. Sissy Cooprt died in Oakland, California under a false name. -- KENOSHA, Wisconsin (pop. 62,899, met. area 100,615; alt. 610ft) is a manufactoring center on the western shore of LAke Michigan. Kenosha lies about 8 miles north of the Wisconsin-Illinois boundary line. The city is about 35 miles south of Milwaukee, and about 55 miles north of Chicago. For location, see WISCONSIN (politcal map). KENSICO DAM stores water for the water-supply system of New York City. It is cheifly an emergency resevoir, The dam extends across the Bronx River about 20 miles north of New York city. It is a concrete gravity-type structure, standing 307 feet high, 233 feer thick at the base, and 1,843 feet long, Kensico Dam can hold 93,905 acre-feet of water. A highway across the top of the dam leads to the aeration (ventilation) plant, which has 3,00 fountains. The dam was built on 1915 by the New York City Department of Water Supply. KENSINGTON RUNE STONE is a slab of stone bearing an inscription in Scandinacion runic letters (see RUNE). Olof Ohman, a Swedish farmer, found the stone on his farm near Kensington, Minn, in 1898, this inscription tells of a party of Swedish and Norweigan vikings who ser out from their settlements in Vinland (America) on an exploration journey westward. The inscription is dated 1362, or 130 years before Columbus discovered America. Some scholars have regarded the stone as a forgery, while others have defended it as genuine. The rune stone is still a 232 [picture of Sissy from 1963] Sissy Cooper manged to evade the law until her death in Oakland, California. Infinitum Archive subject of controversy. It is in the possession of the Alexandria (Minn.) Chamber of Commerce. A replica appears on exhibit in the National Museum in Washington, D.C. KENTUCKY is one of the border states that lie between the North and the South. Its long northern border is formed by the Ohio River, on of the traditional boundaries between the Northern States and the Southern States. Kentucky also forms a link between two of the great land features of the United STates, its eastern border touches the Appalachian Mountains. About 350 miles to the west, Kentucky touches the Mississippi Ricer, Kentucky was admitted into the UUnion as the 19th state on June 1, 1792, splitting from Virginia in the process. It is known as the "Bluegrass State", a nickname based on Kentucky bluegrass, a species of grass found in many of its pastures, which has supported the thoroughbred horse industry in the center of the state. It is home to the world's longest cave syste,: Mammoth Cave National Park, as well as the greatest length of navigable waterways and streams in the contiguous United States and the two largest man-made lakes east of th Mississippi River, located within the southeastern interior portion of Nother America, Kentucky has a slimate that is best described as a humid subtropical climate, only small higher areas

[margaretoakgrove]

Gift for birthday

Walking the thorny road of your uneasy life, you managed to comprehend one simple yet great mystery of that the appearance of a person frequently can be deceiving and far from always reflect their authentic essence.

You came to this conclusion after on your path you had met many people who were flawlessly beautiful outside but disgustingly ugly on the inside, and also those few ones who behind their brutal exterior, in fact, hid an incredibly gentle soul.

And to your grand happiness your beloved Karl Heisenberg proved to be exactly that same kind of man.

But, unfortunetaly, here in this located in a mountainous region of Eastern Europe remote little village because of his rather formidable looks, rank of being one of the Four Lords of the village lands and unnatural for human beings powers of controlling different metal objects only with his mind Karl was perceived by the local residents as an arrogant and incapable of love or compassion extremely dangerous individual, but only to you Heisenberg opened up his genuinely caring, fun-loving and sensetive nature and all the truth about that cruel and egoistic Mother Miranda forced him to become her obedient servant against his own will, and that already quite for a long time he had been dreaming to be free of the oppression of her barbarous tyranny.

Actually, one needs to say that it was not only one dream which the Lord was seriously intended to turn into reality one day.

Yesterday early in the morning when both of you were sitting at the kitchen table and nicely chatting over a cup of freshly brewed fragnant coffee he honestly confessed to you that at least for once in his entire life he would really like to properly celebrate his own birthday with real presents and a real big birthday cake.

To hear this amazing news from the Lord you were indescribably glad as before in your conversations he had never told you even when his birthday was, and what joy that was for you to find out that it was supposed to be already on the next day!

Determined to make your beloved feel a little bit more happier, you conceived to secretly organize a small pleasant surprise for him by preparing a homemade festive cake and a lovely useful gift, despite the fact that Karl was not going to celebrate his birthday so soon for the simple reason that, as he himself said, he didn't have absolutely any time for entertainments as at the current moment the total elimination of Miranda was the number one goal for him, that is why his tomorrow's birthday Heisenberg planned to spend just like one of his most regular days, hoping at least not to cross paths anywhere with his adopted family, the members of which he had always sincerely dispised.

But all these plans and hopes of the Lord crumbled into dust when at the crack of dawn he was unceremoniously awakened by the unexpected telephone call of Mother Miranda herself. As it turned out, "her highness crazy witch" for some unknown reason decided to arrange an unscheduled family gathering and demanded for her "son" to partake in it along with his siblings and arrive for this to the cave church asap, thereby not leaving him even the slightest chance to normally wash his face, let alone have some breakfast.

Hastily dressed, our birthday man, fiercely cursing Miranda for so brazenly spoiling all his day today, went outside where nature unfriendly greeted him with a massive snowfall accompanied by the powerful gusts of a freezing wind.

"Fucking matches..." He grumbled under his breath, trying to light a cuban cigar with no success. "Always extinguish even from the slightest breeze..."

You volunteered to walk the Lord right to the main factory gates, paying zero attention to all of his insistent protests not to do that in such a cold stormy weather. On his covered with deep scars stubbled cheek you placed a light goodbye kiss, and once the burly figure of your beloved disappeared on the opposite side of the stone bridge you immediately hurried back to the factory in order to get everything what was needed ready for his return...

As Heisenberg suspected this family meeting promised to be unbelievably prolonged, and it seemed to him that it lasted for a whole eternity. For many long hours straight Karl, chewing an unlit cigar, had been sitting on a wide wooden bench inside the cave church and, from time to time heavily sighing and rolling his eyes in irritated manner, listening to the insane dictatorial nonsense of the family head, the poisonous insults of Lady Dimitrescu that she was spitting right in his face, the nasty high-pitched squeal of Donna's creepy porcelain doll and the constant childish whining of Moreau. Not having a single crumb of bread within his stomach since early morning and chilled to the bone, Heisenberg eagerly awaited this freak show to end as soon as possible so that he could come back to the saving walls of his old factory and just forget about this frankly lousy day within your warm comforting embrace.

But to reach his safe refuge the Lord, unfortunately, managed only very late in the evening after he had accomplished to do everything he was strictly ordered to, namely, calmed down the went crazy Lycans in the Stronghold and got rid of the mess in the village workshop. Barely dragging his feet from extreme tiredness, the man, upon entering the bedroom and throwing off his outerwear, with noise flopped down on the shabby leather couch and, closing his eyes, let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he was home.

"Karl? You back?" Your quiet voice delicately interrupted your beloved's welcome respite, making him to open his eyes again, and having noticed your presence in the doorway of the bedroom, he couldn't help but slightly smile.

"Yes, princess. I'm back."

"It's pretty late. You must be very tired and hungry. Let's go to the kitchen! I've made a dinner for us."

"Sounds perfect." And with these words Heisenberg slowly stood up and trudged after you in the direction of the kitchen.

"Hey, what's this?" Karl whistled in surprise, motioning his head towards the kitchen table in the center of which adorned a deliciously smelling fresh apple cake surrounded by many plates with his especially favorite dishes.

"Um, Karl..." From overwhelming excitement all that tremendous speech which you had been composing since the previous day specially for this occasion in a blink evaporated from your memory. "I just...I just wanted to say...um... Here! Happy birthday, darling! Please accept this humble gift from me to you!"

The gaze of the Lord fell on a laying within your palms silver lighter with the engraved on it image of a beautiful steed, which you had bought from the Duke for a rather hefty sum.

"I noticed that you always light cigars with matches, but it seemed to me that for you they are not very comfortable in using. And then i thought maybe a lighter would be more helpful in this case, so..."

From your trembling hands the man took the lighter extremely carefully as if it was made not of metal but of fragile glass.

"All right, sweetheart...You...huh...You cooked all this food, baked this cake, spent your money on this obviously damn expensive thing, and what do you want to tell me? Do you want to tell me that you did all of this...for me?"

"Well...Well yes! Yes, that's right!"

Judjing by his puzzled facial expression, it was safe to say your beloved was truly shocked by everything what's happening right now, and it was no wonder because absolutely nobody in his entire life had ever done even something similar for him.

"So...Why are we still standing? The food is getting cold! Come on! Let's take a sit at the table!"

The blizzard, which had been furiously raging outside throughout the day, little by little, had begun to abate, and out of the snow gloomy clouds appeared the large silvery moon whose tranquil light unobtrusively penetrated through a small window into the kitchen where Heisenberg and you were enjoying the festive meal in each other's company. At your request, Karl told you how the family gathering went, but instead of narrating you about this extremely unpleasant event in a negative way, he started cracking shameless yet hilarious jokes about his hateful siblings, and your contagious laughter, caused by these jokes, after all those disgusting nasties that he had to hear today out acted like a healing balm to his soul.

Suddenly, Gymnopedie No.1 by Erik Satie smoothly played on the radio, and to your mind came a wonderful idea.

"May i have this dance, my Lord?" Playfully smiling, you politely held out the man your hand.

"Sure!" Not even thinking, Heisenberg immediately accepted your invitation to dance. "But i consider it my duty to warn you that i can't dance at all."

"Me too! So i am deeply apologizing in advance for accidentally stepping on your feet a huge number of times!"

In the dimly illuminated by a couple of oil lanterns kitchen both of you were slightly swaying in a slow dance to the soothing sounds of the marvelous melody in each other's arms. Placing his rough hand on your waist, Karl was gradually pulling you closer and closer to his wide sturdy chest, and when you rested your head on his strong shoulder he a bit nuzzled your soft silky hair, inhaling with pleasure its subtle delightful scent.

Fully immersed in the relaxing atmosphere of calmness, at least for tonight the Lord entirely forgot about all of his pressing daily problems the thoughts of which permanently created disorderly chaos in his head, and at this divine moment of complete peacefulness it seemed to him as if in the whole entire world existed only you and only him, silently dancing in this cozy semi-darkness.

After a few short minutes, silence that followed the melted in the air music softly stopped the slow romantic dance of yours, and then you looked up at your beloved just in order to catch him looking back at you with a gaze filled with nothing other than tenderness and adoration.

"I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me tonight." Carefully Heisenberg tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Thank me? But...But you shouldn't thank me. I...I haven't really done anything special..." This affectionate gesture in combination with the low tone of his raspy voice made you unavoidably redden like a ripe juicy strawberry. "You deserve this, Karl. You do truly deserve this. You deserve all of this and even more. And if i only could give you this more, believe me, i would gladly do that for you, not awaiting from you anything in exchange because... because i love you too much...that's all..."

"My Buttercup...My kind little Buttercup..." And Karl, upon cupping your face with his hands as gently as he could, placed a kiss on your lips, in sweetness to which, in your opinion, even candied honey could not be compared. You didn't break this adorable kiss to ask the Lord what happened when you noticed a crystal-clear tear rolling down his cheek because for you everything was understandable enough without any words: probably for the first time in his entire life your beloved now was quietly crying with genuine happiness, and from the realization that you managed to fulfill one of the cherished dreams of his you yourself became even more happier than you had already been...

This peaceful night before going to bed Heisenberg decided to go outside in order to have a smoke. With the help of his new lighter Karl easily lighten up a cuban cigar on the very first attempt and contentedly took several deep puffs.

Leisurely savoring the bitter taste of the tobacco smoke, simultaneously the Lord was gazing at the dark nocturnal sky strewn with millions of bright sparkling stars just when one of them at lightning speed was leaving its abode once and for all, and, without hesitation, he quickly made a birthday wish.

It is not difficult to guess what kind of wish your beloved made because more than anything else he truly wished to be with you forever no matter what as for him you doubtelessly were the most priceless gift which he was so lucky to receive from the Universe herself, and to her for such a boundless generousity the man was infinitely grateful.