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spacegaywritings · 4 years ago

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“All Time Low” - Bad Therapists have a special Place in Hell

Summary: Patton describes depressive episodes and being unable to live life. The therapist tells him it is okay and normal to feel sad and to stop being a wussy when Patton tells him life does not feel worth living at the moment.

Disclaimer: writing based on subjective experiences based on therapy, mental health issues and (LOCAL) stigmas. You might have better/worse/different experiences with your struggles and how they were perceived and treated. Your culture or surroundings might have different bias. This is for venting and does not objectively apply to everyone’s experience of their mental illness or struggles.

Tags: u! emile, bad therapists, mental health issues, depression, invalidating mental illness, suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness/worthlessness, self-deprecation, no perspective, bad memory, worried family, worried doctors, shitty Emile lmao, depression being seen as lazy, drastic weight loss, implied self harm, implied suicide contemplation/plan, mentions of sex, mentions of pretence, repression, bad coping mechanisms, someone revoke the dude’s license lmao.

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Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.♥

Links broken? Inform me, please!

Overview of this series on tumblr / ao3.

Story under the cut ( Wordcount: ~2,1k)

Dull eyes took in the white walls framing the therapist’s office. Patton took in the sight before him. It felt as boring as life, as uneventful and tasteless.

Looking at these walls made him feel as if his state had gotten much worse. If it had not been for his general practitioner to send him over and for his daily life to become so unbearable to him, he would have stayed at home and just not have gotten up to this appointment. His family was being persistent. He did not think it was that important. He just wanted to sit it out in his bed and not do anything for a little bit longer.

“Hello there, Patton!”

A friendly face rushed in. It was just as blank as the walls to him. He tried to smile back at the person who beamed so nicely at him. His lips barely moved. He could taste the bitter bile of guilt taking up the back of his throat.

“Hello.”

The therapist narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, well, I have heard more cheery responses today. This is the first time we meet and you show up like this? A little disappointing~”

The singsang voice made Patton want to crawl back under his bed’s quilt. It smelled bad but only if he left his bed for long enough to realise the smell again. He had become dull to it like to anything else in life.

Might as well live in a stinky bed and a stinky life.

It was not like these words, as cheery as they sounded, could lift him up. They only pushed him deeper into the darkest corners of his own feelings.

“I- I’m sorry.”

Patton’s words were slow and he curled deeper into his big big hoodie. He had parked his greasy hair underneath the actual hoodie part of his clothing and he had messily put on some jogging pants. The pant’s legs were lanky around his own legs, even his thighs. They looked like he had taken his older brother’s pants to be his own and he had yet to “grow into it”.

It was at least comfortable enough for his body to drown in the gown and hide his pathetic existence away.

Not that this really mattered anyway.

“Oh, there there. It will be okay. I just made a little joke! You really are not up for the smiley treatment today, huh? Well, I am your therapist - Doctor Emile Picani! The reception said you are all good to go and I checked in your insurance card, too. Now, would you be so free to tell me what brought you here today?”

The adolescent shrugged his shoulders.

He was not worth the therapist’s time anyway. His thoughts were a soup made of dirt and grass and it revolved only about how he was stupid and selfish for going to the appointment made for him. He should have resisted harder and let someone in need have this session.

Still, a little bit of fire in him pushed him onto the couch as if to lay down or at least crawl as far away from the sunlight and the big, observant eyes of this world.

“I, uh.. my family thinks I need help”, he slowly explained. Emile was tempted to yawn. Even a turtle would be faster at walking than Patton was at speaking. This was going to be a long session, a stretching act like pulling at sweet, juicy gum.

“My doctor said I am, uh, losing weight. My family says I don’t have a perspective.”

His hands found their way to a little piece of crumbled paper in the front pocket of his hoodie. He slowly pulled it out, adjusting his round glasses.

“They wrote it down. Uh- I lost weight, don’t remember things and lose focus or something.. um, something about not doing anything, being really slow and uh.. they just said weird.”

Patton shrugged, sniffling a bit.

He tried not to cry at the note but a part of him had become apathetic enough for him to not break into tears. The world was better off without him anyway. He just wanted to go back and sleep or pretend to sleep in his little room.

Not interact with people, not be with anyone and disappoint them with his terribly low performance in life. His existence was enough failure already.

“Uhu.. they said you are being “weird”? Well, aren’t we all a bit weird sometimes! Are you dieting at the moment, perhaps increased the amount or intensity of exercise you are doing?”

The younger male shook his head.

“You did lose a lot of weight, though?”

A nod, this time.

The therapist hummed in thought, scribbling onto his clipboard.

“Now, how have you been feeling the last days?”

The client pulled his thin shoulders up in a shrug, his face slightly distorting into a weird expression. His nose seemed to turn upwards.

“Uh, I would say... not so .. great?”

Another shrug fell from his shoulders as he sighed.

“I just feel.. nothing, I guess. Or bad. Maybe.”

More shrugs were countered by Emile’s rapid nods.

“Alright. Have you been doing things these days? Did anything happen in your life? Maybe a breakup, maybe a loss in your family.”

Patton hugged himself, gently blowing through his heavy hair strands. The grease kept it down. The strands fell into his sight and covered his eyes but moving his hands seemed out of the question. He tried to blow it off again but the strands fell right into his eyes.

Well, he deserved that, probably. Not that fixing his hair was worth the effort.

His head shook itself.

“No. Graduated.. um.. “, he trailed off, his voice fading into hums.

Emile snapped his fingers to gain Patton’s attention.

“You graduated? Congratulations! Me too.”

Shoulders rose, barely as much as his chest rose with every breath he took.

“I guess... You made it to a phD, though. I just hang in my room..”

His lips twitched for a moment. Patton looked onto the floor. Always has been looking at the floor. He spared Picani the miserable sight of his whole face being exposed to him. Or even his soulless eyes. Oh no, he should spare anyone his own presence.

“Well, you can work on that! So, you are feeling bad a lot, don’t do anything and this has been ever since your graduation?”

This time, his shoulders as much as flexed as if to mimic the shrugs he did not have the energy to repeat once more.

“I don’t really.. no.. I guess graduation was my peak.”

The therapist nodded with the energy Patton lacked.

He hoped the other would gain something from this session. Maybe money. Yes, the insurance paid money for this.

“Oh, this looks pretty direct. You have issues with sadness”, he revealed, his emphasis on the sad part reminding Patton of puppets. Oh, he wished he was a child again. Full of life and enjoying simple puppet shows on TV.

“But! Sadness can be helped! You only have to do things again!”

Emile let his pen drop onto the clipboard and put his hands up, palms stretched out to face Patton.

“Things..?”

The therapist nodded, his tone alive, his body rising as he started pacing back and forth like a mad scientist discussing his ultimate invention. It was a great plan, a perfect plan! It had to be revealed because it was! Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! He was such a genius with his phD and his comfortable desk job!

“Yes!!!”, the doctor practically screamed back at him, “you have to make plans and structure your life and go out there again! Stop being so lazy and boring! You need to go out and stop sulking in the corner like a kicked dog! Nobody wants that!”

The dull blue eyes filled with water. They looked like wet buttons more than actual human orbs.

“I... nobody wants me?”

He felt like a child terribly reprimanded by their parents.

“Nobody! I promise. You are being a real party pooper but you can just change and be nice again, so people will stop feeling bad for you. You are blowing all of your feelings waaaay out for proportion!”

Emile’s hands moved to illustrate an invisible line that stretched the more his arms moved apart.

“Everyone feels a little sad sometimes. It is normal! It is important to recognise your feelings and move on. See the sadness? Call it sadness and move on. Work through it. If you have time to be sad, you have time to literally be doing anything else. Mental illness is a matter of having too much time. It is a luxury and you cannot afford this. Your family has been waiting for you to take flight like a bird! But you are staying at home, neither working or studying nor looking into any other things to do. Do you even do chores?”

Patton’s eyes were drowning in tears. His throat was tight and suffocating Patton in upcoming cries that were stuck enough for him to choke on his own sadness. His ears were covered by an overwhelming sound of static, muffling the sounds of his environment.

He was always on static.

This time, his heart seemed to stop and the tears burned pain into his face. The streaks they left were like whiplashes to his heart and he could feel himself barely able to breath.

Emile smiled, nodding.

“You are doing great, Patty! Really great! Feel the feelings, listen to your heart, listen to your pain and your thoughts - amplify it!”

He squatted before the crying creature like a motivational coach in gyms. His yelling made Patton cry harder as Emile instructed him to listen to his thoughts dragging him through the mud and sing songs of suicide and happy pills.

“Now stop.”

Patton looked up at him, petrified.

The therapist put his fingers close to his thumb as if to squeeze Patton’s will to live between them. Slowly, painfully so, the fingers inched closer until they met.

By then, his tears were gone and dried. The shock and messy anticipation too intense for him to wail further in his miserable feelings and adverse state.

“I want you to go out and put on some makeup if you want to, if you need to. Go and hook up with someone and feel like a person. Go out with friends, get drunk and take anything you can to make yourself happy. Go out there and make me happy, make yourself happy! You don’t need therapy to get over a little bit of heartbreak over graduating.”

He approached Patton, turning to make space for him. His movements asked Patton to get up but he felt too wonky and wobbly to even twitch or blink. Breathing was too much.

The therapist helped him up. It was a blur. He was patted on the back and internally, he wanted to cry at how ironic it was that he was Patton and got pats on the back.

Doctor Picani lead him to the door, spouting more nonsense about “going out more” being the cure to his issues.

He has never felt worse.

Patton slowly retreated to his family’s car and curled up. When he was asked how it went, he did not know how to respond and bit his tongue.

“You cried? I hope you got it all out, then. I am sure that helped a lot but I can be in contact with them if you need me to. Anyway, let’s go have some lunch.”

It was the last things Patton heard.

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End Note: This is not how a therapist should treat you. If someone treats you or your issues like that, please make sure you leave immediately and report this. A real therapist will validate your concerns and try to redirect your thoughts. If you have mental health issues, please reach out for help. Depression and sadness can have several different causes. If you are worried about similar issues as the character depicted in the story, please try to keep a journal or a mood tracker to help yourself. It makes sense to contact a GP and work with a therapist and even psychiatrist if needed.

Please take care of yourself and don’t anyone call you lazy for having mental health struggles. Do not listen to depression or anxiety talking you down.

#Patton #patton sanders #ts patton #Patton mention #emile sanders #emile pacani #ts emile #Emile Picani #u emile #unsympathetic emile #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #depression #bad therapists #mind the triggers!!#joey writes

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death-himself · 5 years ago

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Could You Meet Me Beyond the Grave?—Chapter 1

(previously known as Willow!Virgil)

previous next (AO3 Link)

(oh thank god we’re actually starting the story now)

Summary: Virgil, Dee, Remy, and Emile meet Roman

Pairings: Eventual LAMP/CALM, Remile, QPR RED

Word Count: 1,551

Warnings: Shoplifting (more-so robbery but ya know), nervousness, death mentions, eye trauma mentions,Deceit, Virgil being an awkward boi

(anything else you need tagged, let me know)

I double-checked the sunglasses covering my eyes and the scarf covering my cheeks before running down the hall towards Remy and Emile's room. "Are you guys ready yet? We've been waiting for like an hour!" Emile giggled, and I heard his footsteps pad over to me. "Yeah, Remy's not getting up. I think he died again." I blinked, processing that for a moment.

"Did he use his sleeping gas on himself again?"

"Pretty sure."

"Oh for the love of—" I walked over to their bed and felt around for a moment, locating Remy's cold body and shoving him off onto the even colder, unforgiving floor. His yelp of surprise turned into a whine of pain in seconds. "Come on, Rem. We gotta restock, and we need you there." Remy groaned. "Lemme just say, that was not cool of you babe. Not cool at all." I nudged him with my foot, forcing him to roll away.

"Would you rather have me shock you?" I asked with a grin. That got him up.

"Fine, fine. I'm going. I'll meet you downstairs in a few, alright, babe?" I waited a few moments, making sure I heard him actually getting ready, before walking out and down the staircase. Dee smelled like he was waiting by the doorway. "Virgil, finally. Where are Emy and Rem?"

"Remy slept in and Emile let him." Dee took a deep breath. "I suppose we aren't really dealing with a time constraint for now." He spoke loud enough to be heard throughout the tower. One minute later, Remy and Emile were practically falling down the stairs. "Hey, Dee-Dee! Sorry we're late!" Emile said with a laugh.

"Yeah, it was all Virgey's fault, babe. You see he—" I tapped at Remy's arm, sending a light electrical current through him. "Choose your next words wisely, Sleeping Beauty." I could practically feel Remy's pout.

We walked down the street, sunglasses hiding our torn open eye sockets and scarves hiding mine and Dee's torn up cheeks, our canes leading the way to the store we often restocked (or rather, robbed) from. I heard Dee, Emile, and Remy begin a conversation, one that I could tell was meant solely for the three soulmates, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out some earbuds, hooking them up to my phone and using the text-to-speech to text my boyfriends. Dee had advised against me doing such a thing, worried that I might give away something about us, but after a bit of time, I had convinced him it was safe enough for me to talk to them.

The three of them had met on their own, and had expressed their desire to meet me in person. I had told them I wasn't ready yet, over and over. After a while, they moved in with each other, happily living together. While I was waiting for them to die. My fingers twitched just thinking about it. I hated it.

Logan sent some kind of grocery list in the group chat. Looks like they were going shopping, too. Except they had actual money to buy this stuff. And they were buying actual food, like any normal human would. Dee plucked out one of my earbuds. "Your soulmates are still human, I suppose?" I gulped.

"Yeah." He hesitated, before letting out a hum and saying, "Give it a bit more time."

We had reached the store, deciding to split off. Dee went with Emile, and I went with Remy. Once we were no longer able to smell or hear Dee, Remy grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me with him to some unknown location.

"Wha—Remy! Let go!"

"Calm down, Virgey! I just wanna get some perfume, then we can get the stuff Dee wants us to!" As we turned a corner into a new aisle, my nose wrinkled as it was assaulted by several different scents of flowers, vanilla, and cinnamon. "Ugh...Remy, why are you buying this shit? It's so...strong." Now I was relying solely on my cane and hearing, my nose completely out of commission. Remy snickered evilly.

"You wanna know why I like this? Cuz it confuses the living hell outta Deespacito over there. I wear some perfume, and he has no idea what's going on. He relies so much on his sense of smell, it's ridiculous." I heard a light clink of bottles hitting each other as Remy searched through them, trying to find one he might like. I huffed, walking down the aisle, running a hand across the bottles as I passed by.

"Hey, Rem? I'm gonna check out the next aisle." I heard a hum of disinterest, so I took that as a "go ahead". I turned the corner into the next aisle, and immediately collided harshly with someone. I heard a shatter of glass as the two of us fell, the scent of perfume growing even stronger. "Ow! Watch where you're going!" The stranger whined. I hissed in response.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll definitely look where I'm going next time. Oh, wait! There's one problem! Can your thick skull figure it out?" My panicking mind registered the fact that my scarf had slipped down below my nose. I quickly readjusted, hoping to whatever god was up there that no one saw the torn open skin. I felt the stranger studying me, before I heard him shift and say, "Wait...I'd know that voice anywhere." I gulped, taking in the smooth tone, the very slight British accent, and matching it to a certain human I had heard over the phone many times before. "R-Roman?" I screeched, my throat tightening. "Ah, Virgil, my love! It appears we have finally met!"

I started searching around for my cane, realizing I had likely flung it at Roman in a form of self-defense, before a hand grabbed mine. "Careful! The perfume bottle shattered everywhere. What do you need?"

"C-Cane." I mumbled out. I heard him shift, grabbing it and placing it gently in my hands. I held it to myself like a child holds their teddy bear. His eyes were on me again.

"Why are you all covered up like that? The sunglasses, I think I can understand. Logan's gone on rants explaining how some blind people are sensitive to light. But the scarf? It's like a million degrees out there! What is wrong with you?" I laughed awkwardly, answering, "A lot of things."

He shifted again, before I heard what sounded like him standing up. "Here. Allow me to help you up, Stormcloud. I'll pay for the broken bottle." I tentatively held my hand out, feeling his warm, lively hands wrap around my cold-as-death counterpart. It was such a strange feeling. The only warmth I ever got from people were from my victims, who would die soon after and begin to lose their warmth. I blinked rapidly, forcing myself not to compare Roman of all people to one of my victims.

"So...now that we're here together...why don't you come with me? I could take you to Logan and Patton, we could get some coffee and—" I heard three sets of footsteps walk down the aisle Remy had been in. "Virgil!" I flinched at the sound of Dee's voice. Him, Emile, and Remy came over, Dee's hand grabbing tightly onto mine. "This is one of your soulmates, I presume?"

"...Yeah." Dee sighed, tugging lightly on my arm. "I'm sorry, truly, I am. But we have to leave now. Isn't that right, Virgil?" I nodded.

"Yeah. M-Maybe some other time, Ro." After you've died. I smiled at Roman. "See you later, Princey." He hesitated.

"Alright. I understand." He spoke surprisingly quiet, before changing into his fake bravado. "Farewell, Virgil! I'll make sure to tell the others just how handsome you are!" I felt a smile directed back at me, a warm, yet empty feeling growing in my stomach. Dee led me down the aisle away from Roman.

"Sorry, Virge. I overheard you talking to that guy, and I realized he was your soulmate, so I got excited and told Dee and Em. Kinda forgot about the whole "human" thing." I hummed quietly.

"It's fine. I...didn't really wanna stay there, either. Too much of a risk."

We finished up our "shopping", stuffing things like a lighter, some instant coffee, knives, and other useful items into our backpacks, until Dee told us we were done. We ran out the door, security guards chasing us and one of the clerks calling the police. I grabbed the humans closer to us and sent a strong volt through each of them, while Remy took care of the ones farther away, sending blasts of knock-out gas out at them.

We reached the tower safely, Remy and I collapsing onto the couch while Emile and Dee took care of our supplies. It was silent for a moment, before Remy piped up, saying, "Well, at least if we see your soulmate again, you'll know it's him without even needing to hear him, right?" I was about to answer, when I realized:

I had never gotten a good fix on what his scent was. I was too caught up in the moment, and the perfume had masked anything strong.

The only thing I had learned from that experience was how nice it felt to touch a living human being.

#sanders sides #willow!au #tw deceit #tw death mentions

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crinaboros · 7 years ago

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INVESTIGATION: How Romania became an EU workers' rights 'guinea pig'

by CRINA BORO��, Investigate Europe | Euobserver, 24 October 2017

Photo: New labour laws have deprived 30 percent of Romanian workers of a collectively-bargained contract (Photo: Chris Goldberg/Flickr)

On the mornings of 10 May and 11 May in the Romanian city of Bistrita, in northern Transylvania, several thousand employees from the car cable manufacturing plant of Leoni - a multinational company headquartered in Germany - gathered outside the building.

They refused to start their shifts until managers conceded to talks about remunerated extra hours and a pay rise. A few days later, some of the protesters were sacked or pressured to sign resignation letters, according to union leaders and press reports at the time.

The difference between Leoni workers and 80 percent of Romania's workforce is that they at least had a workers' representative.

Since a Liberal-Democratic government passed new labour laws in 2011, rights protection has become the privilege of those working for large companies in Romania.

In practice, the law changes have turned the country into a paradox: a seemingly statistical success story with low unemployment and an economy on the rise, but a social disaster, with 40 percent of the country's workforce earning the minimum wage or under, according to experts.

The gross minimum wage in Romania is 1,450 lei (€320), with a net salary at 1,065 lei (€236).

How did Romania get here?

As the financial crisis gripped Europe, Romania agreed to a €20bn bailout package in March 2009. The International Monetary Fund (IMF), the European Commission, the World Bank (WB), and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) raised the loan. IMF allocated the largest sum (€13bn).

The money came with strings attached: Romania was to deregulate its labour market, one step at a time, and diligently report back to lenders. This came at a time when western companies increased outsourcing to eastern European countries to cut costs.

Business organisations, such as the American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham) and the Foreign Investors' Council (FIC) among others, say they have been lobbying Romania's governments for many years for a more flexible workforce and labour market. In 2011, they got their wish.

Foreign banks, which dominate Romania's banking system, were sending cash to their mother branches. Unemployment was at its highest level since 2008. Cash-strapped and pressured by a troika (IMF, EU, World Bank) agreement to welcome business, the Romanian LibDem-led government passed a new social dialogue law and a new labour code.

The 2011 labour code discarded the old grid that forced businesses to take into consideration a person's expertise, qualifications and studies when determining their salary. Now the companies had only one hard rule to follow: the national minimum wage.

Leaders of the Cartel Alfa union's confederation, the National Union Block (BNS), the Retail Unions Federation and Conect Association agree this was a blow to salaries.

"In other countries, the minimum wage is the floor below which you shouldn't pay. In Romania, it is an orientation mark," says Stephan Meuser, head of the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung in Romania, a political foundation close to Germany's social democratic party.

According to official figures, around 30 percent of total contracts pay the national minimum wage or under. Labour researchers believe that the real figure is around 40 percent. Either way, it is a huge proportion. In Germany, for example, only nine percent of workers are on the minimum wage.

"We are paid as if we were a country of unqualified workers," says Petru Dandea, Cartel Alfa confederation's secretary general.

Double-whammy

The second law passed in 2011 was also damaging to workers' rights.

The new social dialogue act has made it extremely difficult for anyone with a job to form a union, and it has prevented freelancers from either forming or joining one.

Specifically, it is necessary to have a minimum number of 15 employees from one firm, or from the same branch if the company has several, in order to form a union.

Moreover, the union cannot have bargaining power unless a formula of '50% + 1' of the company's employees join the union.

As a result, Cartel Alfa union confederation's membership dropped from over one million members in 2011 to about 260,000 in the last financial year.

The Retails Unions Federation was also one of the employees' representative organisations to lose out. Vasile Geogescu, Retail Unions Federation president, says that over 70 percent of Romania's retail industry counts less than 15 employees.

Imposing a minimum of 15 persons to form a union from the same company is against both EU laws, and International Labour Organisation (ILO) conventions on the freedom of association, as well as against Romania's constitution.

This article of the 2011 law was contested by unions and the case is being considered by Romania's constitutional court, after Romania's ombudsman has filed a complaint earlier this year.

"We hope that this provision will be killed," says Meuser of the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung.

But AmCham is pleased to see the law move in a direction more favourable for its members. The group's spokesperson Andreea Roman believes that the new code "has had a positive impact on Romania's economic growth.

"Meanwhile, the Foreign Investors Council admits that it was instrumental in proposing the new changes. It took part in "over 20 meetings with officials and other organisations" to discuss the 2011 labour code and policy on social dialogue, according to spokesman Radu Burnete.

The EU steps in...

The European Commission encouraged this practice. In 2012, a new government in Bucharest announced that it would undo the reforms and make national collective agreements possible again. Officials for Olli Rehn - then EU commissioner for economic and monetary affairs - together with the IMF, vetoed the proposal.

"We strongly urge the authorities to ensure that national wage agreements do not contain elements related to wages and/or reverse the progress achieved in the labour code in 2011," these officials wrote to the government in Bucharest.

AmCham issued a similar letter expressing their members' wishes regarding future changes to the 2011 law. The 'troika' lenders also called on officials not to introduce annual collective bargaining. The government gave up the plan.

Boiling it down to the numbers

Conect Association president Rodica Novac says the social dialogue policy was passed without any assessment of its public impact, or consideration on the realities of Romania's labour market.

"There are companies who don't favour the unionisation of their workers," argues Novac. "Japanese companies, for instance, are straightforward about it. Also, Auchan - a French-headquartered multinational supermarket chain - and the Schwartz group [German owner of retail brands Kaufland and Lidl] are anti-union employers," he said.

Under Romania's pre-2011 labour laws, which featured strong collective bargaining powers, Geogescu's confederation achieved a sector-wide contract in 2010.

"It secured social welfare aid, because many of the retail employees generally earn very close to the national minimum wage and needed additional support," he says. Another win was a holiday pay rate of 50 percent. "All of these are no longer possible and all the weight falls now on the collective bargaining contract struck at a company level".

Conect Association accused the then Democratic Liberal Party-led government headed by prime minister Emil Boc of having used the financial crisis context to eliminate the country's national collective bargaining contract, to attract Western companies wanting to balance their books with cheap, but skilled, labour.

Emil Boc was not available to comment for this article.

According to a report from Conect Association, in 2015, there were 468,374 enterprises with less than 15 employees, comprising in total over one million people.

The number of firms with less than 21 employees, the minimum necessary for collective bargaining, represent 95 percent of the employers in Romania (over 480,000 companies).

This means that 1,285,151 (30 percent) employees were de facto deprived of a collectively-bargained contract.

Collective bargaining - the main tool to negotiate better working conditions - has thus been restricted to the workers in large companies or of state departments.

Unions confederation leader Petru Dandea, who sat in the labour market deregulation negotiation meetings, said that the EU commission and the IMF were keen to push these changes through - although the commission did not specify how Romanian officials should relax their labour laws.

"I call it the anti-social dialogue law", Geogescu says. "It was meant for everything but social dialogue. It was passed to almost dissolve the collective bargaining contract".

'The responsibility of the former commission'

A July 2012 letter from corporate lobbyists at AmCham shows that when Romanian officials were reviewing the 2011 laws, the group sent its position. It requested, among other things, for the law to retain the minimum threshold of 15 members in orders for employees to form a union.

Head of the National Union Bloc (BNS), Dumitru Costin, has called the EU commission representatives "accomplices" of the business lobby.

Asked whether the commission interfered in wage setting, Costin said: "Of course wage-setting was discussed. The only wage-setting topic the commission is interested in is the mechanism behind establishing the national minimum wage".

In a report in 2012, the commission said that the bargaining system should be reformed "in a less centralised way" in order to "result in an overall reduction in the wage setting power of trade unions".

But the current social affairs commissioner, Marianne Thyssen told Investigative Europe that this position was "the responsibility of the former commission."

"That is not my position and the current commission stands for a socially-balanced policy," she said in an interview.

"Representatives of both employers' associations and unions consider that Romania was used as a 'guinea pig' by foreign investors with the support of the troika, to decentralise collective bargaining radically," according to a European Journal of Industrial Relations study by Aurora Trif, a social scientist from Dublin University and lecturer in human resources management.

According to a union official quoted in the study, "all the labour market reforms [in Romania] were initiated and adopted at the recommendation of two players; one is the American Chamber of Commerce and the other one is the Foreign Investors' Council. The Romanian model has been exported to other central and east European countries and foreign investors wish to extend it into western European countries". AmCham and the FIC say they are part of a larger group of at least 17 different business lobby organisations.

The result of this has been "catastrophic" for Romanian society, says Vasile Gogescu.

"We're slowly becoming the working poor," Geogescu said. "Two employees earning each the national minimum wage, if they start a family [together], say they have a child, it's catastrophic. They cannot pay their bills by working, and I'm not talking about paying for whims, but about simply affording everyday basics".

In addition to Crina Boros, journalists Wojciech Ciesla, Ingeborg Eliassen, Nikolas Leontopoulos, Maria Maggiore, Leila Minano, Paulo Pena, Harald Schumann, Elisa Simantke also contributed to this investigation for Investigate Europe.Investigate Europe is supported by Germany's Hans-Böckler-Stiftung, Rudolf-Augstein-Stiftung and Stiftung Hübner&Kennedy, the Norwegian foundation Fritt Ord and the Open Society Initiative for Europe.

ORIGINAL PUBLICATION: EUOBSERVER - https://euobserver.com/social/139515

#labour #labour rights #gig economy #Romania #World Bank #imf #unions #labour markets #national minimum wage #financial crisis #politics #feature #labour laws #employment #precarious work #euobserver #crina boros #INVESTIGATE EUROPE

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notorious-titan-productions · 7 years ago

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Hey! Hope you don't mind asking you a big favor: I'm making a video for YouTube about the FNaF community and it's negatives and one of the segments is about people like smokethebear, the pimps, E_A, and Nikson. You seem to have the whole scoop on most of their mishaps and i was wondering if you could send some basic summaries of what these folks fucked up on, basically. It's cool if you can't get it all, but it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!

(Please message me if you wanted me to answer privately, I'll take this down ASAP and message you it personally if you did.)

My knowledge of these wonderful fuccbois is a little rusty due to, like, a year of them actually keeping to themselves for the most part (or at least me hearing nothing from them), but I'll see what I can remember! (If anybody else has any extras to add onto this, send them to Bio!)

Smoke...oh, Smoke. What a lovable shitlord he is. He'd frequently go on jealousy-fuelled crusades against other FNaFtubers in their comments-sections - one that pops to mind immediately is EnergeticShadow, when he was still relevant. He'd pick on youngsters and demean folks for having less subs than him.

Furthermore, he'd make sub-par content, and the only reason it would get famous would be because he clickbaited to shit and used models nobody else had (due to him using his YT money to commission modellers for FNaF models, so that he could lock them behind a sub-wall. He would not release them until he reached a certain sub milestone, if I remember correctly). He frequently commissioned ConfederateJoe, and once made a new ‘model’ in a similar way that was just Emil Macko’s Nightmare Fredbear model, but retextured.

He was a dickhead. Not sure if he still milks FNaF for views, though. His (ConfederateJoe’s, really) models have been absent from the workshop for ages.

Not all of the Pimps were bad people; Gold94Chica was fine - really nice, even. MrJericho seemed to keep to himself, too. Problems arose from them letting E_A be considered a Pimp, though.

And so we arrive at the infamous fandom discourse I like to dub ‘The E_April Fool’s Fiasco’.

Hitlerspimp birthed a mini-drama-llama here, too, since he was already known for being a bit of an antisocial dick’ead beforehand, and him stoking the flames of this drama did little to help.

Essentially, E_A had created a Springtrap model that was considered the best of its kind, for a time. Many people wanted it ported to SFM - but E_A firmly stated it would never be ported, due to it being too complex for SFM to handle. People were fine with this. It's understandable.

Cut to April Fool’s day, and ya boi E_A makes a huge mistake.

He figured it would be a funny meme to upload a fake version of this model to the SFM workshop, where the model was actually a shitty unrigged Sprongtrep model rather than the one shown in previews. The one he said would never be ported to SFM. The one whose pictures for the previews were obviously taken in SFM, due to the simple lighting compared to Blender, E_A’s usual image-renderer of choice.

Turned out the model COULD be ported - but E_A just gave it to the Pimps, his friends, and tried to keep it quiet to the rest of the community.

Naturally, many people flipped their shit - myself included. The discourse carried into a DA journal, where Malohn was ganged up on after calling everyone there angry about the model being private ‘fucking retards’ or something (I'll see if I can find the journal and link you it privately), and a few days later he left the Pimps. Still unknown whether the drama was related or not, but it seems likely given the context.

Tay-Tay made a bunch of (now-deleted, I believe) callout videos towards the Pimps and E_A over this, and Hitlerspimp made a video with the Springtrap model mocking the viewer in record time, probably because he needed the drama so he could stay relevant.

E_A blamed the fanbase for the drama rather than his own backstabbing of the community by lying to them, and that was that. His model was released and it turned out it worked fine in SFM. Gg E_A.

The Pimps also did some Pimp Network shit, but I can't remember what it was all about. I think it was similar to Fine Bros’ React World bullshit, but I'll need to do more research to be sure.

Nikson just seems pretty far up his own ass, to be honest. Can't immediately remember any drama involving just him, but I'm sure there's something out there. Anything comes up, I'll message you. As far as I know, he just left YouTube to make pretty-looking games with rather mediocre storylines.

I hope what little I could remember from my days as a FNaF drama crusader help, lmao! I'll see if I can dig up anymore dirt and message you with what I find privately. :)

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goldeagleprice · 5 years ago

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Community Voice Response: Dec. 10, 2019

From the Nov.15 Numismatic News E-NewsLetter

Do you collect medals in addition to coins? If so, what types? If not, why?

Here are some answers sent in from our E-Newsletter readers.

Rarely would I collect medals.

Mark Cooper Address Withheld

Yes, I collect silver medals as of six months ago to go along with my world coins books I’ve made up. I have three that are from Italy which are mid-1800s I believe, basically Papal States (popes). Why do I collect them? I don’t know, lol. I like that they’re old, silver and beautiful to look at.

Montague Bakasy Address Withheld

I can honestly say that I’ve never seriously considered medals. But at the same time, I have limited resources so I have to choose whether I want to spend my money on coins (which I am already interested in), or on medals, which I don’t currently collect but am interested in.

None of the coin stores in my area stock a selection of medals, so it’s difficult for a new person who is interested to really know where to start or see what is available. Some websites such as eBay and the major auction houses are useful for reviewing what’s out there and selling. I refer to websites such as Numismatic News, CoinWeek, or Coin World, which occasionally provide interesting articles on medals, but it’s still hard to know where to start with a collection. Also, at least for me, there seem to be few local resources such as mentors or other collectors who I can talk with about collecting medals.

Matthew Kable Address Withheld

I collect all types of numismatic items, including medals. I basically collect medals that were struck for a reason or place I can relate to or have lived. Specifically, I collect items such as Assay Commission medals and Lesher dollars.

Gary Lewis Cape Coral, Fla.

I collect medals that go along with classic commemoratives such as the 1893 Columbian Exposition, 1901 Pan Am and the 1915 Pan-Pac Expos.

I also collect the occasional medal that catches my eye on a historical or artistic subject. I do not collect sets or modern arts medals. Some of these are pretty but way overpriced.

In foreign coins, I collect a few coronation or historic events medals that are artistically done and reasonably priced.

Rich Vatovec Trussville, Ala.

Yes, I do collect medals also. I collect Fairfield County Connecticut and Monarch who did not issue coins.

Allen Berman Fairfield, Conn.

I collect medals as a dealer, not a collector. I collect original silver Indian Peace medals and rare Civil War and earlier military campaign medals and awards.

Rex Stark Gardner, Mass.

Yes, I love to collect exonumia, including Civil War tokens, Hard Times tokens, and so-called dollars and medals. I think it enhances my collecting experience because of the history usually associated with these pieces.

I usually collect medals that commemorate a historical event or person and have a beautiful design. Truly, one benefit of collecting medals is the vignettes and designs. Since they are usually larger in size, there is more room for intricate and bold designs on the pieces.

Richard Tritz San Diego, Calif.

While I do own some U.S. coins, I collect U.S. exonumia generally and medals specifically. I prefer medals to coins because I find that, by and large, they are far more varied and interesting than coins.

It also appeals to me that many individual medals are far more likely to have been actually handled by famous individuals than individual coins are.

For instance, the Indian chief’s photographed wearing Peace medals or numismatists such as Farran Zerbe, well-known as a medal maker in his own right, and Thomas Elder whose medals continue to charm and offend (see Delory) to this day, and of course Benjamin Franklin, whose medallic design of the Comitia Americana medal one hopes is for the ages.

A. Kim Address withheld

I do collect so-called dollars in addition to coins. Their size (similar to a silver dollar) is substantial enough to capture details. The variety and rarity of medals are so much greater than that of true coins. It is a challenge to hunt and find SCDs, yet the costs are a mere fraction of similar-rarity, regular-issue items. I especially enjoy medals from the World’s Fairs held in the United States. These are well known and cataloged among so-called dollars. Medals from the 1892 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago are relatively plentiful and affordable. Take a detour from the U.S. Mint. Investigate so-called dollars!

Jim Chudd Fort Collins, Colo.

I collect all kinds. Right now I have some Presidential, Apollo 11,12 and 13, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, and others. I have a catalog on medals but from 1991. I hope to collect more.

Jim Casto Houston, Texas

I collect some medals which meet at least one of the following criteria:

1. Commemorating a historical person or event of significance to me

2. Of exceptional artistic merit

3. Of historical importance in and of itself (e.g. Lusitania medal)

4. Having a close connection to my other numismatic interest (e.g. British coronation medals)

Additionally, it must meet the criterion of economic viability, i.e., costing relatively little in respect to my perception of its “true” value

Jack Lloyd Panama City, Fla.

I started collecting medals about 10 years ago, being impressed by the artistic quality of the designs and engraving. I am particularly fond of French and Belgian medals from the period 1900-1950.

Martin Mettee Ellicott City, Md.

I collect medals and medallions dealing with “outer space” and astronomy, which are my intense interests.

Greg Gonia Franklin, Wis.

I have never really been interested in collecting medals as much as I do U.S. coins, which I’ve been collecting for over 25 years since I was a teenager.

Emil Bley Catonsville, Md.

I only collect medals that happen to come my way.

David Wyndoze via Facebook

I like European art medals. I collect most Art Nouveau with female figures.

Wayne Aldrich via Facebook

The post Community Voice Response: Dec. 10, 2019 appeared first on Numismatic News.

#Precious Metals

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courtneytincher · 5 years ago

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Fake Hitlers and a Real Art Problem for Merkel

(Bloomberg Opinion) -- Adolf Hitler, the failed artist, appears to be taking his revenge on Emil Nolde, the successful artist he envied and hated. Just as Hitler watercolors, even those demonstrated to be fake, fetch high prices at auctions, there’s a political backlash in Germany against Nolde. Chancellor Angela Merkel even took his works off her office walls this year.The contrasting and intertwined stories of Hitler and Nolde — the latter as ardent a Nazi as the former — are among the best illustrations of the complicated relationship between art and evil that permeates the last century of German history. Both men’s artistic careers started with a rejection by a major art academy (Hitler in Vienna, Nolde in Munich), but that led them in startlingly different directions — and to an eventual clash.Two ArtistsHitler the artist is still something of a mystery, though biographers have thoroughly documented the Nazi dictator’s life. It’s known that he came to Vienna in the fall of 1907, at age 18, to take an entrance exam at the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts, that the rejection devastated him and that, after his money ran out in 1909, he started eking out a living as a painter in Vienna and then Munich, until going off to fight in World War I. That leaves many questions open. How many works did Hitler actually produce? What kind were they? Where did they end up? In a 1997 article, the German art historian Otto Karl Werckmeister wrote of “between two and three thousand drawings, sketches, watercolors and oil paintings extant from the years before the war.” But his source is a self-published book by Billy F. Price, a Texas collector of all things Hitler, that purports to be a catalog of all his known paintings. Price, in turn, was relying on the consultations of August Priesack, who worked on finding and buying up the Fuhrer’s artwork as an employee of the Nazi Party’s main archive in the 1930s — and again for private collectors after World War II. Priesack was an interested party, since he helped Price build his collection, and in any case, his reputation was shredded when he authenticated the “Hitler’s Diaries,” a notorious fake created by the arch-forger Konrad Kujau. What we do know is that a petty criminal and self-taught draftsman, Reinhold Hanisch, put up a then-homeless Hitler to producing art for sale in 1909. Hanisch sold Hitler’s works to random people in beer halls and to frame-shop owners. The partners eventually had a falling-out after Hitler accused Hanisch of pocketing his share of the proceeds. Later, when Hitler was German chancellor, Hanisch started faking Hitler watercolors and selling them to the Fuhrer’s many fans in Vienna; in 1937, he was imprisoned for it and soon died in his cell.According to British historian Ian Kershaw’s two-volume biography of Hitler, the future dictator was a lazy drifter who would work only when he needed cash; a watercolor every two or three days was his normal production rate. That would imply that no more than 800 small paintings could have been produced in the short time Hitler worked as an artist — and many buyers probably wouldn’t attach much value to art they bought for the price of a couple of meals, so the works were unlikely to be treasured and preserved.Bart F.M. Droog, a Dutch investigative journalist who, along with his colleague Jaap van den Born, has been studying the market for Hitler art and objects, estimates the number of extant Hitler paintings at between 75 and 125. Droog told me that the Nazi archive where Priesack worked (known as the NSDAP) managed to locate only about 50 in the 1930s — despite a willingness to buy them for about the equivalent of the average German annual income — and not even all of those had been genuine. According to Droog, Hitler produced drawings and watercolors, never any oil paintings. They were all cityscapes, mostly copies of postcards of Vienna and Munich landmarks, enlarged with the help of a grid. Even Hitler himself probably couldn’t have told a forgery from the real thing.Droog, admittedly, is not a proper art historian. But the problem with Hitler’s art is that it’s so mundane there’s not much for an art expert to go on when identifying his hand. I asked the distinguished British historian Sir Robert Evans, who wrote a three-volume history of the Third Reich and this year published an article about Hitler’s artistic output, whether he agreed with Droog’s assertions about Hitler’s works. “I'd go with his views,” Evans wrote back. “I guess if you wanted to authenticate one you'd now go to Mr. Droog! The catalogs are all unreliable.”Hitler himself knew what his paintings were worth. Kershaw cites the transcript of a 1944 conversation in which Hitler calls them “modest.” In the late 1930s, the Fuhrer even banned their publication, ending his party’s attempts to promote them as paragons of pure Aryan art. There’s evidence that he was intensely jealous of more successful artists, in particular of Nolde — who, despite his rejection by the Munich Academy, had become a famous painter by the time Hitler came to power in Germany. “Nolde, that swine!” Hitler raged during a 1933 visit to the studio of one of his favorite architects, Paul Ludwig Troost.(1) “We have the power and the money today, but they will not get one commission from me. We will see who will hold out longer. And every one of the gallery directors will be instructed not to purchase one piece more. They will be liable to me with their personal fortunes for this, or I will have them imprisoned.” In his memoir, “Inside the Third Reich,” Hitler’s minister of armaments, Albert Speer, recalled how he’d decorated the house of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels with Nolde watercolors, and the propaganda minister was “delighted with the paintings” — until Hitler came to visit and “expressed his severe disapproval.” Goebbels immediately had the paintings taken down.Oskar Kokoschka, the Austrian expressionist who did get into the Vienna Academy in 1907, blamed frustrated artistic ambition for much of what Hitler did after World War I. The British writer Elias Canetti recalled a conversation with Kokoschka in which the painter blamed himself for World War II: Had the academy accepted Hitler in his place, he said, Hitler never would have ended up in politics. It may sound like an exaggeration, but the Fuhrer’s virulent jealously of the obviously more talented Nolde makes me think Kokoschka was probably onto something. The works of Nolde, a bold experimenter with colors and shapes, were included in the Nazis’ 1937 exhibition of “degenerate art,” and more than 1,000 of them, more than any other artist’s, were removed from museums. But he remained one of Germany’s most sought-after and best-paid artists — making 80,000 reichsmarks (almost $400,000 2015 U.S. dollars) a year — until the Nazis banned him from painting in 1941. Hitler couldn’t have dreamed of such an income from his art.Nothing but intense jealousy can explain Hitler’s open hatred of Nolde. The painter was an avid Nazi and a rabid anti-Semite; he praised Hitler as a “brilliant man of action.” The Nazis could have embraced him as a co-creator of the Aryan myth, but Hitler would have none of it.The Nazi-imposed ban on painting kept Nolde from being denounced as a Nazi after World War II; he died a venerated master in 1956. The heroic depiction of Nolde in the 1968 novel “The German Lesson” by Siegfried Lenz contributed to the widespread view of him as a victim of the Hitler regime. Chancellor Helmut Schmidt, a Nolde collector, chose the artist’s paintings for the walls of his office in the 1970s.Hitler’s RevengeMerkel took them down this year, days before a Berlin exhibition highlighted Nolde’s anti-Semitism and his connection to the Nazi Party. Though Merkel's office tried to present the removal as a mere return of valuable artworks to the foundation that had loaned them — one of the paintings was to go to the revealing exhibition — German media immediately caught on to Merkel’s more likely motives for not wanting her Noldes back. After the Berlin exhibition, any public figure displaying Nolde’s art on office walls would face tough questions. There would be no point in arguing that Nolde could make a storm look real with a dozen brushstrokes and that his sunflowers were arguably more luminous than van Gogh’s. A Nazi is a Nazi.It’s hard to say whether Nolde’s views in the 1930s and 1940s, now at the forefront of any and all discussion of his work, have affected the market value of his oeuvre. But the prices his watercolors have commanded at auctions are similar to those fetched by paintings signed with Hitler’s name. Indeed, Hitler art can be more expensive; in 2014, the Weidler auction house sold a cityscape bearing the dictator’s signature for 130,000 euros ($143,600). Auction houses offer a broad variety of “Hitler” works — still lifes, portraits, landscapes, some of them done in oil on canvas. Droog considers most of them forgeries; they’re often “authenticated” by the likes of Priesack or a U.S.-based handwriting expert named Frank Garo, who charges a small fee for his services. In 2017, van den Born himself clumsily forged a Hitler watercolor and sent a photo to Garo, who authenticated it.Many of the “Hitler” works, genuine or fake, go to China these days. “People in China and other Asian countries don’t take it as personally as we do,” Droog said. “For them, a Hitler painting on the wall is something like a Mao poster in the Netherlands.”Those paintings and various objects that purportedly belonged to Hitler — furniture, spoons, vases — account, according to Droog, for 5% to 10% of the much bigger Nazi militaria market, which he estimates at $40 million to $50 million a year. Much of that money is paid for fakes, sometimes quite blatant ones. “There are factories in Poland, China, Pakistan that make this stuff,” Droog told me. “The more swastikas there are on it, the higher the price.”Some of the buyers are, of course, neo-Nazis. But as long as trade in these objects is legal (and it is, with various restrictions, in most big markets — even in Germany, Hitler’s art and objects can be sold if there are no Nazi symbols on them), no one has any right to suspect them of being loyal Hitlerites. And besides, Droog and Evans both told me they believe many “Hitler” buyers — apart from some dedicated collectors — have a purely financial interest in the Fuhrer’s work. “Even the fakes sell and so could be a useful investment,” Evans emailed me.Truth on the WallGerman authorities are as embarrassed by the auctions as Merkel was by the Noldes on her wall. Input from Droog and van der Born comes in handy when police and prosecutors want to disrupt a sale, such as a big auction Weidler had planned for this February. Prosecutors in Nuremberg temporarily confiscated 63 works just before the sale for authentication purposes. Seven months later, the city prosecutor’s office told me the investigation wasn’t over, and I’m pretty sure it’ll go on at a snail’s pace. Nuremberg’s mayor condemned the disrupted auction as being “in bad taste,” and the city where the Nazis used to hold their grandiose gatherings doesn't need this kind of publicity. Nevertheless, the Weidler website contains a special page on “Watercolors signed A. Hitler”; it’s protected by a password. Police interventions notwithstanding, there are still plenty of buyers for likely fake Hitler paintings at the same price as authentic Noldes. It seems they are, deep down, fine with the forgeries; they’re really buying a story, a narrative of Hitler the poor, rejected young artist turned evil genius. They’re essentially investing in the lie of his humanity, the lie that his watercolors are, indeed, art, no matter how “modest.”Nolde’s story, that of a Nazi scorned by his own people, doesn’t work as well for marketing purposes. Berliners flocked to this year's exhibition to learn an inconvenient truth, but Merkel is hardly alone in not wanting that kind of truth on her wall.Something I've grown to understand in the five years I’ve lived in Germany, though, is that the truth doesn't tarnish what it touches, nor can lies be in any way redemptive. That’s why Nolde’s work shines so, and Hitler’s — real or fake — is so pitiful. (1) The Hitler quote was displayed at the Nolde exhibition in Berlin in 2019, curated by Bernhard Fulda, Christian Ring and Aya Soika.To contact the author of this story: Leonid Bershidsky at [email protected] contact the editor responsible for this story: Tobin Harshaw at [email protected] column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners.Leonid Bershidsky is Bloomberg Opinion's Europe columnist. He was the founding editor of the Russian business daily Vedomosti and founded the opinion website Slon.ru.For more articles like this, please visit us at bloomberg.com/opinion©2019 Bloomberg L.P.

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bitcoin24on · 7 years ago

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Lightning Network RC1 Release ‘Completes Bitcoin Mainnet Transactions’

Lightning Network transactions have successfully deployed on Bitcoin’s mainnet, marking the first step in a tech upgrade, which will likely transform user experience.

Lightning Hits Bitcoin Mainnet

As cryptocurrency trader and commentator Vortex noted on Christmas Day, Lightning’s RC1 has had a tentative release and “mainnet (transactions) have been completed.”

The Lightning Network is perhaps the most hotly-awaited so-called ‘layer two’ upgrade for the Bitcoin network. Once active, users will be able to send BTC funds practically instantaneously for next to no fee.

A beta release for the mainnet is due later, Vortex notes, but users can already research how to take advantage of the implementation ahead of time.

In case you missed it, #lightning RC1 has been released and mainnet tx's have been completed. The mainnet beta is on the way but you can begin researching how to implement #lightning into your technology stack now. https://t.co/g62KEOtDmnhttps://t.co/HQZbsVQjtS http://pic.twitter.com/nkwvXGc9z8

— Vortex (@theonevortex) December 26, 2017

Some places where Lightning payments can be used are Starblocks and Yalls.org.

A testnet platform for Lightning transactions currently allows anyone to create a wallet and get a sense of how the technology works using test bitcoins (tBTC). Transactions using the tool complete in several seconds.

Stifling Bitcoin Cash’s Criticism

Every advance in Lightning is music to the ears of frustrated investors eager to focus on Bitcoin as a currency for smaller amounts in addition to its use as an investment tool.

As mainstream consumers continue to pile into cryptocurrency en masse, Bitcoin fees this month surpassed an eye-watering 1000 satoshis per byte, resulting in giant miner incentives to process payments at a comparatively very slow rate.

While fees from SegWit addresses are lower, many major wallet providers and payment processors still do not support it, worsening value-for-money for users and businesses transacting in Bitcoin.

Commenting on the project’s outlook for next year, Lightning’s co-founder Elizabeth Stark said she “looked forward to way more of what no one has ever done.”

Yup, we had several moments this year with the @lightning team where we were like, welp, no one has ever done this before.

Look forward to way more of what no one has ever done in 2018!

— elizabeth stark (@starkness) December 24, 2017

Bitcoin itself meanwhile has managed to withstand recent pressures to come off lows resulting from last week’s $6000 price correction.

As Bitcoinist reports today, positive belief in Bitcoin’s technical outlook is returning as prices hover above $15,000, while improvements to transaction fees and times would negate a key criticism fuelling the popularity of rival fork Bitcoin Cash.

What do you think about the future of the Lightning Network? Let us know in the comments below!

Images courtesy of Emil Jarfelt/Good Free Photos, Twitter

The post Lightning Network RC1 Release ‘Completes Bitcoin Mainnet Transactions’ appeared first on Bitcoinist.com.

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caveartfair · 7 years ago

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The Artist Duo Reinventing Performance Art to Combat Rape Culture

On a brisk November morning in Bushwick, Brooklyn, artists Sigrid Lauren and Monica Mirabile of the performance collective FlucT are leading a rehearsal for their newest work, Bigger Than Me (2017). Working with dancers Quenton Stuckey and Jes Nelson in the narrow auditorium of the artist-run space Secret Project Robot, they acknowledge that the actual performance—debuting this week in the chandeliered ballroom of the Bath Club in Miami Beach—will likely end up being quite different. But FlucT will adjust. “That’s one of our specialities—adapting,” Lauren offers. “We’re like amphibians,” Mirabile agrees.

Toward the middle of the piece (which, in full disclosure, was commissioned by Artsy Projects and curated by Elena Soboleva), several lines of dialogue from the 2017 film IT take over the soundtrack, and the performers gracefully convene on a balance beam, freezing into endurance-testing poses. Suddenly, the thumping chorus of Ariana Grande’s 2014 hit “Break Free” interrupts, and their stoic expressions melt into grins.

Portrait of FlucT (Sigrid Lauren and Monica Mirabile) in Brooklyn by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

“This is the part when I say I don’t want ya, I’m stronger than I’ve been before/ This is the part when I break free, ’cause I can’t resist it no more,” Grande croons, and FlucT lunge into a punchy dance sequence, not unlike something the pop star herself might do onstage. Then, just as suddenly, they crash to the floor, as though possessed, their bodies maneuvering in sync as a child’s voice returns, warning “This is what IT wants. IT wants to divide us.”

FlucT has made a name for itself over the past seven years—at art venues from MoMA PS1 to the Guggenheim—with equally unpredictable combinations of cultural touchstones, integrated with extreme physical prowess and jarring choreography. “They don’t settle on any one particular kind of work, style or medium, but rather draw on a cross section of sensibilities, mediums, and recent histories,” says RoseLee Goldberg, founder of Performa, which curated and co-produced a massive, 18-person FlucT performance at the modernist Lever House in Midtown Manhattan this past May. “Their furiously paced performances are also infused with a not always obvious, but deeply felt critique of power systems—between people, institutions, and modes of expression.”

Monica Mirabile during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

While transcending the strict boundaries and traditions of dance, music, installation, and performance art, FlucT’s works launch fierce critiques against capitalist society and what they see as its byproducts: rape culture, elitism, and psychosis, among them. In a given piece, performers (which can range in number from just Lauren and Mirabile to a large troupe of a dozen or more) engage in sexualized acts; screech and flail wildly; and display impressive strength and flexibility as they entwine with one another.

“You can’t really call them a dance company as such,” Goldberg says. “Instead they coax individual styles from each of their dancers, some classically trained, some self-taught. In a way, their ability to bring together so many different parts into a coherent whole is what makes them so fascinating.” The name FlucT (short for fluctuation) alludes to their nimble nature; every piece is composed with the flexibility to improvise or make changes at the last minute, based on the space, the audience, or the way the performers are feeling.

Portrait of FlucT by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

Quenton Stuckey during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

Lauren and Mirabile first met in 2010 in Baltimore, and founded FlucT in New York in 2012. While Lauren danced growing up, neither has formal training; Mirabile studied sculpture at MICA and Lauren went to college on an athletic scholarship.

“Primarily, FlucT is is just the two of us; it’s about a relationship,” Mirabile says. “It’s about people interacting, getting along, or not, and why that happens.” In 2011, they moved to New York and began to build a larger community, which led to Otion Front, a Bushwick rehearsal space and dance studio they opened in 2014 and now run with five fellow artists.

“The FlucT mentality is something that we’ve been developing for seven years now and so there are signatures,” Mirabile explains. “We go through a number of processes to work on dance, the soundtrack, and very emotional facial expressions. There’s also a running theme through everything that is about control and lack of control, and about how we give and receive power.” The underlying narratives are drawn from current events, personal experience, and psychology, while also deeply considering the audience and how they may react.

Jes Nelson and Quenton Stuckey during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

“I think the really exciting thing about using the body as an art form and also a storytelling mechanism is that it’s not pre-recorded, it’s not painted already,” Lauren offers. “We often use set choreography but then sometimes we’ll have a narrative improv moment, and so we can really change our choices in those moments, as long as we're staying on track with what we want to relay.” An unrehearsed moment dubbed the “Freak Out” often punctuates their performances. “It’s not really a freak out,” Lauren says. “To me, it feels more like an exfoliation, a cleaning of the self, where we’re throwing our bodies around and flailing as hard and as fast as we can.”

“It feels more like an exfoliation, a cleaning of the self, where we’re throwing our bodies around and flailing as hard and as fast as we can.”

A typical FlucT performance begins with communication. Like most close friends, Lauren and Mirabile depend on each other to help make sense of the world—whether that’s the President’s attempted bans on immigration, or something intriguing they heard on a podcast—and then translate these discussions into physical actions and movements. “We always start thinking about what has been bothering us, how we feeling emotionally, and then usually that stems to what’s going on systematically on a greater scale,” Lauren explains.

Their pieces often revolve around power dynamics, abuse, and societal norms. This also bleeds into their appearances, from costumes to hair color. For a long time Lauren was blonde, Mirabile brunette, and they played with the attendant stereotypes; recently, they reversed hair colors, and roles. “We’re playing with assumptions,” Lauren says. “You fuck with expectations,” Mirabile adds. “The ideal is to change the paradigm.”

Quenton Stuckey during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

During a performance this summer at Montauk’s Surf Lodge, organized by Brooklyn gallery Signal (with whom they’ve been working for years), FlucT was well-positioned to make an impact on an unsuspecting audience. An upper-crust crowd—including many who were frankly inebriated, and unfamiliar with contemporary art—were to varying degrees shocked by the performance, titled Sissy Joker, during which Mirabile and Lauren stripped down to Calvin Klein underwear and covered their faces in clown makeup.

The audience wasn’t exactly primed for FlucT; a band had performed just before the group came on, Lauren says, and the Surf Lodge didn’t have the same built-in context that a museum or gallery would. The experience made her feel terrible.

“But those are the people that need to see things like FlucT,” Mirabile counters, finding a silver lining to the evening. “Some really interesting things happened during that performance because people had no idea what they were about to see.”

She points to a moment in the piece when she’s acting demonic while perched on Lauren’s back, mouthing prescient lines from the 1981 movie My Dinner with Andre: “Has it ever occurred to you, Wally, that the process that creates this boredom that we see in the world may very well be a self-perpetuating, unconscious form of brainwashing created by a world totalitarian government based on money, and that all of this is much more dangerous than one thinks?”

Jes Nelson during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

This didn’t exactly play well. “These bros and screaming girls—these rich, fluorescent, expecting-a-party people—were just like, ‘[Gasp!] This is not what I thought it was,’” Mirabile explains. “We were dirty and slimy and covered in broken glass and paint, and seeing that transition in people’s faces was like: ‘Gotcha!’ That’s what I wanted.”

“Their performances are exciting and often shocking, and they use their bodies and sexuality in ways that are transgressive and confrontational, but the spectacular elements of what they do are always in service to a message they’re looking to get across,” says Alexander Johns, co-director of Signal. “Frequently that means implicating the viewers themselves. You get captivated and then have to question what you’re seeing. Or the way you’re looking. But it never gets pedantic—it always remains a performance that’s compelling to see. That’s a rare balance that they always seem to strike.”

“They use their bodies and sexuality in ways that are transgressive and confrontational, but the spectacular elements are always in service to a message.”

The new Miami work, Bigger Than Me (2017) is in many ways a signature FlucT performance. Five performers (Mirabile, Lauren, Stuckey, and Nelson are joined by Emil Bognar-Nasdor) eerily lock eyes and intertwine with one another to the chaotic soundtrack, which includes everything from a rap about Hurricane Harvey to audio snippets of giggling children, news broadcasts, and Gwyneth Paltrow’s Oscar’s acceptance speech in 1999—in which she thanks Harvey Weinstein.

FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

The work feels especially timely now, in the midst of the large-scale reckoning over sexual misconduct and assault, but the artists insist that this is something they’ve always dealt with. “So much of our work is about rape culture and part of that is being women,” Mirabile says. “It’s something you think about your whole life—the danger of being around men who are shaped by culture.”

The piece also palpably juxtaposes rape culture with natural disaster. “We thought about Harvey Weinstein and others who are being called out for sexual misconduct or rape, and the similarities to what happens when you’re affected by natural disaster,” Mirabile explains. “The best way to kill someone without actually murdering them is rape. You take away their freedom. And if your house is destroyed, if everything is taken away from you in a natural disaster, it’s like your freedoms are stripped away from you—unless you have money.”

“Art Basel in Miami Beach is a very specific place,” she says. “It’s an art market, it’s a VIP crowd. We are playing to a specific audience in this piece.”

Portrait of FlucT (Sigrid Lauren and Monica Mirabile) in Brooklyn by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

The costuming adds additional layers of meaning; the five performers will don satiny dresses, pajamas, and underpants, while painted head-to-toe in shades of green. “Part of the feel of the piece is that it’s as if aliens were looking onto our American culture and repeating it in some ways,” Mirabile explains.

Bigger Than Me’s set will be a sort of obstacle course, made up of balance beams, a goal post, a shiny leather oversized couch, staticky TV sets, and a police golf cart—which, taken together, conjure the tangled web of capitalism, through which the performers must navigate. As the title suggests, the piece reflects recent overwhelming economic, cultural, and environmental shifts. “It’s a really complex time,” Lauren reflects. “People are understanding how they’re in pain physically, from things that happen mentally. We need to empower and help one another.”

It’s not an easy process overall. “There’s this magic that happens,” Mirabile says. “Your adrenaline is released when you’re about to perform in front of a bunch of people. There’s this animal, instinctual, physical thing that happens where you have to adapt and evolve and you can’t stop. It’s very intense and so beautiful.”

Quenton Stuckey during a FlucT rehearsal. Photo by Daniel Dorsa for Artsy.

They’ve developed a ritual before each performance, a way to quell anxiety. They clasp hands, lock eyes, and recite in unison, “I will not hurt myself, I will not hurt you, I will not hurt anyone else, and we are amazing,” then give each other a peck on the lips; they do it three times. “It helps us be conscious, and aware, and feel safe,” Lauren explains.

Reactions after FlucT’s performances are generally positive, and often intense. Many a teary-eyed woman has approach the pair to give thanks, and even to relate their own stories. “You can tell they’re having a very emotional experience,” Mirabile says. It’s a different experience for men, they’ve found, who “understand the power of our work, but tend to feel more ashamed.” Men might miss the point entirely, mistaking sexualized performance for sexiness, rather than a commentary on abuses of power. On numerous occasions, guys have approached them to compliment their bodies, or ask for their numbers.

“How do we make an impact in the art world? And beyond the art world?”

After Miami, FlucT will continue to branch out into other media—including installation and video, which will figure in a solo exhibition at Signal in March of next year. But live performance will continue to be the heart of their practice. “Being able to experience something with other bodies is so important,” Lauren offers. “The physicality of performance is something for the people that get to be there—it’s not replaceable.”

“A lot of what we talk about is: ‘How do we make an impact in the art world? And beyond the art world?’” Mirabile says.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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spacegaywritings · 5 years ago

Text

Drunk Kitchen - Chapter 1 / 2

Summary: Remy and Virgil have some fun with adult juice but their fun is about to drop when the craving for sustenance Can be read as purely platonic considering there is no lip-kisses. Tags: food mention ×missing your soulmate ×Alcohol ×Drunken Shenanigans ×Drunken Flirting ×Drunkenness ×war metaphors from drunk idiots taking cooking too serious

tumblr links:1 / 2 || ao3: 1 / 2 / all. My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me Story under the cut!

The sun was low, the day was crisp. Afternoon settled over the land and into the bones of workers hungering for the sweet end of their weekend shifts just to make a bit of extra money and finally be with their beloved home.

Outside, a few people got ready to enjoy the Saturday night, to go wild and party and dance until their bodies had different shames and their head carried different names. The first groups emerged from the home-coming crowds as the birds flew back to their nests and the first buses took the party people over to the pool of sweaty bodies and alcoholic beverages.

Inside, some people reunited their families, others were greeting the next groups of wellness-seeking average people who just lived for getting a meal cooked for them once in a while.

In other places, the party was already high up. It was autumn, Saturday afternoon and so late, you could almost call it evening with the clouds closing in to frame the sun. The bright star was slowly descending, disappearing behind the busy streets and high skyscrapers.

Virgil and Remy... they were the last kind of people. Ever since their roommate - Emile, lovely and beloved datemate of theirs - was out to meet his parents and do some catching up stuff, Remy had decided that it was time to do some catching up as well.

Holding up a bottle of strong alcohol, he had invited Virgil into the “fun” they would have and all the other could see was the impending doom within a bottle. Still, he had given in and willingly decided to slurp some of the disgusting and burning liquid from Remy’s bouncing navel piercing.

Virgil had never forgotten his doubts as quick as in these moments.

Drinking was far beyond by now, the sun was burning with the last intensity of a stubborn yet dying ally. The last words were spoken and Remy sagged against his love.

“wmhwmhw V..”, he mumbled and snuggled against the taller boy.

Virgil swatted at the other but made no attempt at actually pushing him off or anything. Instead, he wrapped an arm around him after trying to get at his little coffee bean. He wavered on his feet but made sure to lean against the counter as Remy just decided to give in and crush Virgil with the whole weight of being responsible to hold him up.

“The fwuck yo...yo wan-mmm “, Virgil hiccuped as he snuggled the other, “uh.. Ri?”

His voice was low and the words came out much clearer than expected but Virgil was worse off than Remy, despite the heavy hiccuping that came from the smaller of the two.

“VIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”, Remy shouted at once, then dragged the syllable along as if it was a piece of chewed out, wet gum rather than a nickname.

The man in question just let out a grunt in reply but looked at the shorter guy with hazy hazel eyes. Heh, hazel hazy... hazyel... Pf..

Virgil’s lips twitched into a lazy smile. His arm tugged at Remy who had not enough control over his body to resist the strong suggestion of cuddling closer. The tall, slightly curvy man chuckled a bit and flapped his long lanky arms around his lovely Remy.

“Ri-Ri - Remyyyyyy”, he giggled in a singsong voice as he rocked from left to right and left to right and further to the right and then stopped.. because he lost the unsteady rhythm his drunkass-stupid mind had set up before. He was even too silly to follow his unconscious motifs.

The smaller man was torn between giggling and breaking off the whole hug but the rocking movement was something between nauseating and comforting in a way that he felt too mentally and physically weak in his knees to put a foot down and stop it. He just let his baggy body sluggishly fall from one to the other side within Virgil’s soggy grip.

“Nuuu”, Remy protested. He was so short of breath, he just snuggled back against Virgil’s chest and let out more distressed noises of Remy’s Complaints :tm: “Vii....”, he started again, his mind gathering every bit of brain juice he had to actually continue his intention and voice whatever weird thought had built up in his mind, “food..we..”

Remy swallowed.

“we need foo...fofof..foof....” Remy scoffed at himself, indignation taking over as he felt anger rise against his useless mouth. How dare it just suck at wording like this? “f-food. FucKING food!”

Spit flew against Virgil’s purple shirt but he was too dizzy to really see it. His mind was everywhere and it felt as if nothing was steady but instead, all was moving. He knew nothing should be moving and he had stopped rocking forever ago.

Wait, where was he? Oh, oh yes. Remy.

“uh.. what?”

He blinked and redirected his attention to the other again.

“Uh.. fo-forgot to .. uh .. what .. um, did you say? “

His mind was still drawing a blank at him so he just stared at Remy, hazel eyes empty and void of expectation or thought. He lacked about anything but a high blood sugar level and tons of alcohol. Yes. Yes, so much alcohol of it.. of this bottle and another bottle and oh man..

“Virgil - Vi Vi vI vI v iv iv viv - bitch! virgIL you stupid fucker”

Remy ranted on and patted his chest violently, insistently. The other blinked and just... nodded again, his wavy attention slowly wobbling back into place as Remy wanted to have it. His mind felt like these ... these screens ..oh man these screens... sleep screens? These screens that happen when you do not use your shit and then your technology gives you that DVD screen and the symbol changes colour and wobbles from one corner to another and usually just hits walls.

This was his mind right now.

“Virgil” Remy flapped a hand against Virgil’s cheek. “Like,... food... we gotta eat and this shit.... food... just food, man”

He voice started to sound like he was talking about a conspiracy rather than preparing a meal with one of his datemates.

Virgil carefully nodded. Still, his face seemed as droopy and out-of-this-world as before. Connecting to him seemed about impossible bit Remy was trying his best and somewhat succeeding at this point.

At last, the taller one was looking down at the man in black. A slightly oversized top was hugging Remy’s sides and slacked a bit around his chest area. Forever stoic, the tall over squinted at Remy and nodded.

“Food”, he repeated.

Slowly, at an incredibly ancient pace, Virgil’s mind seemed to start and actually process the idea of food, a meal. Yes, food. Food sounded good, sounded like an amazing thing to have. Oh, yes food could be tasty and they could eat together and have really tasty food that was delicious.

“Em has foood”, he argued eventually.

Yeah, whyever the hell would Virgil make food if it was not in order to satisfy Emile’s petite hunger. His mind just could not comprehend the idea of .... making a meal when Emile was gone. Why would he? It did not make sense.

Unless..

Virgil blinked, a flash of intelligence brushing through his alcohol-numbed braincells. Remy.

“hungry... uh.. you “, he started at first, then swallowed, his mouth tasting of cherries and kisses even sweeter than sugared fruit. And it tasted of a lot of alcohol. It could rival a bottle of common sanitising solution, to be candid. “You are hungry?”

Remy nodded eagerly!

His head bopped up and down immediately but once he had executed the movement for a bit, his head seemed to understand that the pressure and pain seemed to come from the sensation of sudden and repetitive movement of his innocent brain. If he tried harder, maybe he would just make a little cocktail in his head.

Heh, like a brain milkshake when you ate icecream a lot and it started hurting so you shake your head until the pain comes off. Brainfreeze was bad. Yes.

But food!!

“ah - uh.. food”, Remy repeated once more, “cook - um,.. we should cook.”

Virgil nodded without understanding and let himself be tugged along. The smaller boyfriend was freeing himself from Virgil’s wide hugs and he quickly made it out of the embrace and stepped away from the loving support that was his boyfriend’s stable shoulder.

Without missing another heartbeat, Remy strode forward and dragged Virgil along. Together, they made a move, they made progress, they took a whole step after the other until Remy - the genius of the two - made a big realisation- Virgil had been his support all along.

His body did not like being without any wall or shoudler to lean on. Instead of moving forward, he was suddenly experiencing the force of being forced downwards and he and Virgil bonked their heads together as they stupidly collapsed into the floor.

No braincell was lost in the process of making this fall. They were just as silly before the fall and they would continue to be silly even afterwards. Honestly, they were not more clever, now that they had experienced the first hardship.

Oh no. Those were drunk idiots.

Hurting heads clanked together and Virgil slid over the body underneath him, his throbbing temples restricting his reason and patience.

What had happpened? Did they not want to make food? But the food... Where was the food?

“Where ‘s Em?”, Virgil mumbled and scrambled his twig of a physical vessel back into a seating position at last.

Remy was still on the floor, groaning and cursing unintelligible strings of words. Maybe they were made-up words. They sounded made-up. Virgil’s boyfriend was beautiful and a really clever writer so he probably knew how to make words. Wow, such great skill.

He really wanted to kiss him now but a part of him was still mourning after the - once again - new realisation of a missing Emile.

“Viiiiiiiiiii”

A voice whined and the black bundle of boyfriend was moving towards him again, hands facing him and arms outstretched as if to grab Virgil like a lifeline.

“Em is not here...”, Virgil responded and laid back down to his partner.

Misery loves company ♥

The tall boy curled around the smaller one and gently hugged him from behind. Remy let out a little hiccup and snuggled into the embrace.

“n we dun hav food”, he argued silently and nudged Virgil’s chest with his heavy head. It was running on pain and simply pressing against his skull for no reason but to be dummy annoying.

That stupid bitch.

“We uh.. can umm.... do this thing - like..uh, cook..” Virgil swallowed, his body suddenly invigorated by the energy of being right about something, by having a single functioning braincell in his godforsaken drunk-ass head. “Cook! Oh my fuck, we-we can cook!”

The raven man twitched and tapped the floor insistently.

“PIZZA!”

Virgil nodded.

“uh.. how.. how do you.. uh ,,, we? How ... how pizza? How do you make uh, ujm.. pizza”

“Oh !! o ! yes, pizza!”

Virgil’s mind was already swirling around the idea of hot, cheesy, greasy food. Tasty, doughy and absolutely amazing for his mouth - his tastebuds. It felt like a relief already.

In foolish happiness, the two got up. It took a while, longer than a few moments but rather multiple minutes until they had climbed and dragged themselves back up to the position of standing, sophisticated human beings. Not that they were a part of the fancy beings but rather that they seemed to resemble this species a bit more than any other.

Eventually, Remy hung over the drawer filled with snacks. He needed to eat, wanted to eat and he had a certain craving for the greasiest of foods. The black dude grabbed the crisps and hugged them to himself, snuggling up on topf of the kitchen counter with the little snack as Virgil got minced meat to make a killer festival of a greasy pizza dish. Remy started off good! His hands grabbed the package from two sides and started pulling. For some reason, still, his grip seemed to slip. His fingers just couldn't grasp the material properly. It was one of the shiny packages that felt smoother than these matte ones. Virgil liked the texture better so they usually got these rather than other ones.

Just.. today.. they didn't seem to want to open and Remy, in his silly mind, was convinced that more violence and stubbornness would solve the issue better than scissors would ever be able to. Virgil got a pan and was ready to got. Meat, pan. What else would a person need?

His drunk mind started working, gears setting into motion and letting his thought process start. Just as he realised that maybe some oil would be helpful, he heard a loud sound, a sudden shuffling and scattering.

The hazy mind of Virgil redirected his shortened attention span to the source of sound and was met with the sight of Remy covered in spices and crisps. Opening the pack of crisps with a little more aggression was not as practical as he had expected it to be and now he was stuck on the kitchen counter, covered in crisps and crumbs and excess spice powder.

“...uh..”

The tall blob of confusion looked at the orange boy. Yes, Remy was now officially orange. Those were spicy crisps! Honestly, if someone was able to pull off being covered in crisps, drunk out of their mind yet still look somewhat remotely attractive then it was Remy.

The hungry man giggled, his body vibrating and and shaking in amusement. The crisps travelled down, sliding off his clothes and down onto the counter.

“I am tasty!”, he cheered, arms stretched out and ready to hug and tackle the issue at hand, “look!”

The taller one of the lovers just shook his head and leaned in, snatching one off the crisps with his tongue and welcoming the spicy hot treat into the drooling cavern that was his mouth. A hum escaped his mouth and he nodded his head sagely.

“Very tasty”

The two giggled further, Virgil curling his tall posture into a slightly crooked “l” as he leaned closer to the counter. His hand grasped the edge and promptly encountered one of the lost crisps that cracked and broke on impact. A dying screech could be heard after the lethal contact. A few crumbs could be found on the inside of Virgil’s hand as he retreated his palm in the curiosity of an innocent child’s mind.

“huh..”, he observed wisely. His tongue leaped at the crumbs and he absorbed the piece of sustenance.

“We need to clean .. uh.. that”, he added after chewing on his food and eventually swallowing it down. His left vaguely gestured towards the mess of roasted potatoes decorating one of his datemate’s bodies.

It was a wondrous sight but would turn Emile into an upset little puppy rather than a happy and excited Golden Retriever. He did have the soft energy of one.

Remy nodded again. One of his hands bravely sneaked one of the crispy delights and rewarded his watering mouth with the taste of bell peppers.

“Ish gwood”

Virgil snorted.

“Em- uh.. We- we need to clean”, he reiterated, “we gotta clean.”

The smaller man suddenly shook, his body coming to life and more avalanche of crumbs suddenly breaking from Mount Remy and crashing down onto the kitchen counter with silent pitter-patter sounds. It was like raindrops but less liquid and more dry. More crunchy and crushing.

Satisfying.

“We! Uh, we can..ah- do uh.. um! Bowl! V! Get a bowl!”

The taller of the two broke away from his waiting stance and slowly descended to his knees to pick up a bowl. His mind comprehended the things a bit better by now. The alcohol might be fading or maybe the one bit of crisps was absorbing ALL his alcohol within him.

Or magic, obviously.

They got the crisps from the kitchen counter and off Remy right into the bowl which was then settled in Remy’s happy lap. He was welcoming and neighbourly to the bowl, hugged it and treated it right because he was proper and gentlemanly in his foggy mind.

Virgil looked at the bowl, full and rich with greasy little pieces of potatoes and a mix of spices.

“uh.. they um.. they will be bad”, he thought aloud and tapped against the bowl as he fished another bit out of it. His mouth was accepting the treat willingly and his stomach howled in anticipation. Only his mind was still twisting and turning and nothing made sense. Not that he minded too much. His body was warm and cozy and his thoughts seemed to fly. “we um.. should eat all.”

Remy hugged the bowl, his face immediately scrunching up in distaste.

“Food!”

The smaller man curled up, his legs moving up and his back hitting the wall as he pulled his knees up to his chest. The bowl was put between his chest and the knees.

His precious treasure.

“Ri, we... you are eating it. We will eat it”, Virgil compromised and reached out for the bowl but Remy hissed at him. The heart of a betrayed man was on his tongue as he scowled at the other and gently snuggled his little meal.

A soft puppy face spread over his facial features.

“We eat it..?”

His voice was softer than silk, the tone lowered to a plead. Virgil’s smile was soft and genuine when it appeared and settled on his features. He tried to mimic a similar level of gentleness with his voice and carefully brushed over the back of one of Ri’s hands that was grasping the bowl.

“We will eat it all. No throwing away.”

Remy smiled at him and nodded enthusiastically.

“We share!”

The two were calmly eating out the bowl, enjoying the greasy treat and Virgil allowed himself to lean into the counter and lay next to Remy. The latter eventually decided to be a good bean and switch the bowl with Virgil. Once one of his datemates was sprawled over his thighs, Remy brushed through the pastel pink hair tips of his love’s soft strands. The home dyejob was long ago and the colour was faded so much that the bleached hair slowly took over but Virgil seemed comfortable with a tuff of cotton candy as his hair.

He hummed.

“Food... V.. “, he commented and gently patted his head - earning a little gasp from the other in his state of mindless relaxation. “perfect”

Virgil giggled, the words of his Remy immediately prompting the response their datemate would usually add to it.

“Do you mean ‘purrfect’ ?”, the two inquired in unison before falling victim to their own giggles which soon consumed the incomplete throuple. They would both hear Em’s voice without him being around.

Remy softly nudged his love and Virgil let out a soft grumble. He decided to groan back and nudge again to insist on his wish that the tall boy move.

“We still need to cook, yanno”

Virgil giggled, wobbling on his feet with his wonky stand on the ground. He shifted his weight from one side to the other and moved like a wave to balance his uncertain steps.

“Heh.. cock”, he commented, intelligently so.

Remy joined his hilarious giggles and soon enough, the Virgil curled over the other, hugging him and vibrating in laughter as his smaller roommate shook and twitched in his soft snickers.

“C-cok..!”, Remy tried to correct yet failed as his breathless lungs swallowed half his sounds. Instead, his miserable attempt at setting things straight ended up in making the whole endeavour even gayer. “Co-..cockpfffffffffff”

Virgil shook his head, head red with laughter and euphoria as the words hit him and the meaning actually reached his mind. For some reason, repeating “cock” was amazing and his mind chanted it back at him, echoing the stuttered out attempts at saying “cook” that Remy produced with little success and much struggle.

“c-...”, Virgil laughed loudly, drawing back and wobbling onto his feet once more instead of blanketing his love with the abomination of his oddly large body, “co...cocc!!”

Remy had just composed himself to as much as breathe for a little second but the words Virgil threw into their version of a conversation quickly rekindled the fire of shrieking laughter and gasping snickers.

The two continued simply repeating each others miserable shots at saying “cook” a few more times, wild banter or unfinished words and breathless syllables were between them and filled the room with the warmth it was missing with their datemate still out. Heads grew hot and glowed in amusement at their stupid joke. Nothin could stop them but their horrible need to breathe after all.

They calmed down and their laughter died down.

Virgil decorated the floor, hugging the cool tiles with his warm tomato head as Remy patted the empty counter he sat on, his hand just mindlessly moving against it, stroking it ever so gently like a lover should be caressed. The tall boy was already half asleep as Remy’s hazy look wandered over the mess of a kitchen.

Crisps were still scattered wildly around the kitchen counter (mostly limited to where he was sitting) and even the floor. Cups, shots and little decorative umbrellas were clotting the sink and a few empty cans and bottles lined the side of the sink that did not have a drying rack. Even further, there were towels and napkins everywhere.. and more importantly, a pack of meat and a whole bottle of olive oil.

Why.. Oh, yes. The food.

His lethargic sight was enriched by the eventual addition of crisps creeping into his field of vision.

“V!!! V! The fooooood”

His words emphasised the food part. The significant part. Oddly enough, he could experience a moment of déjà vu yet without any recollection of similar events happening to him. Or happening at all.

The patch of pink and purple pastels was still on the floor but slowly, the legs within the pink yoga pants started stirring up.

He groaned again, feeling the déjà vu also but not being able to quite place it. The past minutes were lost on him. Virgil’s eyes blinked at the new day and new situation before him. Everything was fresh to his drunk mind and he nodded as he signaled he had heard his smaller lover.

He scratched his butt but made sure to flip himself over so he could see the other hovering over him on his divine place on the kitchen counter. Far above him, posing on the clouds of this mundane kitchen. The house’s own Cupid was shooting him glances of love and blinked in charm with his lovely eyelashes.

Virgil smiled up at the divine sight of his love. His sight was blurred by the pinkish veil of his hair that pretended to protect his lazy eyes from the longing lights in the kitchen that shone down onto him.

“Hey there, beauty~”

His smile grew into a little grin as he winked at the comfortable god.

“V you silly noodle~ “

Remy giggled back and curled into himself once more, by now fully laying on his kitchen cloud. His legs were slightly bent, the one pressed against the counter a bit more so than the one above it. One of his arms was supporting him as he leaned on its shoulder. The other arm was lazily draped over his rich middle.

His fingers traced hearts over the counter as he blinked into the pink madness of his little giant.

“What do you want, my love~?”

Virgil smirked up at his adorable master, a stupid happiness painting his facial features with a certain softness. Maybe it was just the fact half his face was covered in his bangs completely falling all over his eyes and even tickling his nubby nose.

The two gazed at one another, each a picture of the epitome of beauty to the other. They relished in the affection, the rosy vision and blurry flutters in their heart.

A noise could be heard. Remy blinked, awakening from the trance that was the spell of love his precious Virgil had cast on him with just his soft looks.

A rumble and grumble could be heard. A hollering and squeaking of demands and curses was thrown around - all coming from the hungry monster in Remy’s stomach. He looked down at it, a distant look in his eyes.

Confusion rolled in his mind but Virgil seemed to remember - or just suddenly have a little bit of understanding left in his mind. He blinked his eyes further open and patted the floor, gently stroking it before pulling himself together and sitting down properly.

“Riri, the f o o d!”, he told him and grabbed the counter to support himself in getting up. His tall body was soon hovering over the counter and gesturing towards the oil and meat once more. “We can cook the meat, man”

Remy nodded, rubbing his eyes. He carefully pushed himself into position once more and soon enough sat proudly on the counter, cheek a bit red from laying on the counter. He played with the sunglasses on top of his head and grabbed a nearby bottle. Taking a huge swig from it, he swallowed the acidic liquid.

His face immediately grimaced as his taste buds detected the different sensations coming at them and his reaction was immediate. The bitterness of alcohol, the intense burning of it down his throat made him scrunch up his facial features entirely. A fire was felt in his mouth but it was calmed by the abundance of sweetness mixed into their cocktail blend was finally reaching him. A taste of fruity freshness and the acidic undertone from lemons and limes washed the bitterness way and made him forget about the disgusting aftertaste of cheap vodka.

Ugh, who bought this shit anyway. It was one of the most widely-ruined alcoholic beverages on this planet and people just saw it as cheap ingredient for a sad cocktail in their plan to get smashed with as little money and effort as possible. Which he and Virgil did too, so he could not really judge that.

Virgil.. Virgil who was looking at him, head tilted and exposing his neck a bit. His pastel purple shirt around him was loosely hanging from him and barely covering his collarbone and general neck area.

The tall pastel boy reached for the bottle before Remy got to unscrew it and made sure to empty the rest into his big mouth. Remy just blinked at the other, shaking himself in disgust for a moment before he received the empty bottle in his hands and finally shut the holder of horribly disgusting sweetness.

“Good”, Virgil reviewed with a click of his tongue.

A pleased expression settled on his face and he looked like a peaceful statue of stone that would sit in some temples and parks.

Remy shook his head, his piercings clanging together with silent sound akin to jingling bells. The taller datemate cleared his throat again and pointed ta the stove.

“You gonna come.. come and uh.. help me cook?”, he asked softly as he looked at his lovely datemate. He was such a handsome piece of man. A fine man in black from head to toe, even his earrings and piercings were black (safe for the septum in silver than graced his lovely nose).

The smaller goth got down to the floor and quickly wrapped his arms around Virgil’s soft middle.

“mmmh”

Remy hummed and gently snuggled up to the walking softness that was one of his boyfriends. Sometimes he just realised that they had not touched in a while and it felt ridiculous.. wrong, in a way.

The closeness was remedying the little void in his touch-o-meter. He snuggled up to Virgil’s chest, hugging him close and simply enjoying how the embrace was returned. Virgil’s large arms folded around him, carefully holding him and shielding him from the touch-starved life without him. The taller one softly started rocking after he pressed a little smooch to the top of his head.

“Got you, Smalls”

Remy let out a sound of protest but stayed within the hold. No fight, no resistance. It was just cuddling softly, eyes closed and hearts opened as the warmth of affection lulled them in. Slowly, the weight in Virgil’s arms became more present, the pressure against his chest a little uncomfortable as Remy dozed off, falling against the tall pastel bean.

“ m nodt smahls”

His eyes fought to open again and he lethargically burdened himself with blinking at the other.

“Ssure not l-llove”, Virgil giggled in return and leaned down to hug more of his little lover.

Emile was still not with them and it was nagging at him.

“m!”, Virgil argued, pulling away from Remy at once, “We clan - can!Uh ... um.. Cook and and then be up um.. for uh.. for when Emile uh .. retwurns back uh .. home!” He bounced a bit in his spot and turned his attention back to the stove, quickly moving to put some oil into the pan he had put out before.

“He-he can eat th-the food and ...b..uh.. be proud of us!”

Virgil got on to it, totally absorbing himself in the magical art of fucking preparing food - a meal, even so. The only thing was that the whole process seemed a little lost on him. Once the oil was in and the stove started to heat up the pan along with the oil, he was a bit.. clueless and left to the devices of a person just as unknowledgable as a child. Or, well, a drunkass FULLY grown adult who does not understand life but is tall enough to eat BABIES.

Helplessly, he turned to Remy as the oil startd to change. It did not look just the same as before, there was something happening. There were small bubbles and it felt like some bride’s veil was just dropped in this shit and now everything was slowly whitish but in a really weird and odd blur. Holy fuck, it got more.

There was even more. They got more and more by the minute, soon enough covering the bottom of the whole pan and effectively taking over the oil.

Oh no. It was... It could not be!

This shit was fighting the oil.

“REMY”, Virgil yelled instinctively as he grabbed his smaller man and hugged him close, effectively trapping him in the sweet embrace of absolute and immediate anxiety edging on panic.

The smaller individual stared at the oil, the whitish bubbles in it and saw the sizzling, witnessed the soft little sounds, almost friendly enough to woe him into believing its innocence but he was smarter than that. He would not be fooled into falling for this cheap trick. He was a serious and super intelligent man. He was capable, strong, handsome, gay, hungry and even more fucking gay if he did not mention it before.

Nothing and nobody would or should ever mess with a Queen, a Diva like Remy.

Not even oil. No matter how tasty and delicious it seemed to be .. or smell. How did simple greasy shit already smell so aromatic? Honestly, this was peak restaurant ambient!

Remy held his tall boy and hissed back at the rude intruder.

“Oh, you -”, he challenged with the sudden flow of determination hitting him. The alcohol was driving into his bloodstream and fuelling his confidence to the point of proud idiocy.

He eyed the pan... quickly, he could realise the oil jumping at them, starting the fight, picking up weapons and hitting the first men!

“TAKE COVER!”

The malicious entity has chosen.. death. Ah, alright. Remy saw that. Remy understood.

He was a clever man.

He blinked, refreshing his mind and eyes at once. Within SECONDS - because he was a genius among mortals - he had calculated e v e r y t h i n g.

The oil was coming for them, launching missiles of little white bubbles and hot hard pain at them. It was seething, it was cruel and it was not the last word of blood and injury spoken between them. Remy predicted the attacks swiftly, his mind working overtime at the task of working out a plan as he threw himself against Virgil to dramatically shift them out of shooting range.

They needed to be safe from this evil monster, the ill-spirited being of oily disasters and compromised bubbles of seething, white rage.

“Virgil, Virgil we - “, he started, gasping his words out as if a terrible injury was keeping him from breathing and speaking properly, “we need to stop it!”

The long man nodded, gaze shifting from the monstrosity of oil he had unleashed and the alarmed face of Remy’s usually so calm features. He reminded him of a person at gym, you know, those fitness coaches that were really into physical exercise and they would push you to your limits so hard, you wanted to cry. Kinda. A weird cry of yes and no but it was no maybe, not really. Actually, it was not maybe at all.

It was weird and it was painfully feigned enthusiasm for self-torturing devices.

Wait, how did he - Oh yes, the oil.

“We, um.. uh .. stop it”, Virgil agreed.

A small tinge of regret stabbed him like the shady little bitch it was. Just a fucking little backstabber getting back at him - literally, pun not intended - when he least expected it, when he was exposed and vulnerable. Okay, he was always vulnerable.

Virgil waved his hand around as if to fan the danger away with his magical drunk powers of dummy-thiccness.

“We can distract it”, he slowly suggested, his voice slowing down significantly, “away from us.”

His hands were parallel to one another, as if to indicate a certain length that was the space between his hands. The palms faced one another and he moved the pair of hands from one side to another with an air of importance surrounding him.

Remy nodded with great authority.

“Amazing plan!”

He agreed with a cheer and stared back at the raging fireworks of oil bullets littering the kitchen with greasy spots and defacing destructing. The situation got out of hand, slowly but surely so.

Burning olives could be smelled. They were the souls of the dead, the fallen and forgotten. Their sacrifice would not be for nothing, it would not be dismissed as collateral damage.

Virgil dashed forward, running straight through the shower of oily precipitation raining down on him, his vulnerable pastel soft self. He screamed, screeched and cried in battle demeanour and aggressively threw his head back to face his opponent.

“I will take it from here!”

Virgil stared at the pan, the drawer underneath it heavily attacked by the angrily steaming monster. It was where all the lids were.

“Ri!”, the pastel baby called through the loud hissing and shrieking of the raging dumpsterfire that was hot and burning oil, “You go bash that meat into this shit”

Virgil swallowed hard, the words on his tongue too much for him to comprehend, tears forming in his eyes as he came to terms with what he was about to announce. “I will go get the lid and shut this fucker up”

Silence.

When radios or TV channels hit an error, there was that weird static sound, somewhat intense and monotone but persistent. It was this kind of sound that seemed to dominate the battlefield the oily savage had forced upon this kitchen. Their kitchen..... It would pay for it.

Remy’s beautiful face of love and darkness was derailing into a shocked movement of mouthing protests, proposing empty alternatives to the plan. Virgil shook his head decidedly, not even paying mind to the multiple Remys before him.

It was just an oil job. That shit had messed with their kitchen enough but it would not mess any further with him and one of his dear beloved ones.

He looked down at his arms, spots of burned skin meeting his vision. Future scars of the heroic action he was about to complete. There was flesh missing in his mind, in this kitchen. It was lost like the comrades they had forever missed in battle. The salt shaker, the cocktail glass... The little spoon with sugar crystals still on and around it. They had fallen and they were to never return.

The two engaged in eye contact for a moment lasting longer than a heart’s eternity. Their eyes longingly connected, just a bit, only a second.

Remy gulps down his hesitation and fear. While the oily giant was harmless at first, it was fear-inducing and absolutely horrifying by now. It was teaching them the lessons of obedience and pain - the hard way. Their hearts knew love from each other but they also felt the terror blown into them by the horrific enemy rising in their kitchen.

Virgil nods.

The time has come.

The nod was slow, an exaggerated movement in order to make sure Remy would not miss it. Compared to the following actions, it was basically slow motion. Then, everything happened at once, happened in quick succession and happened incredibly so.

Remy dashed forward to the meat and just flung it right into the pan at once while Virgil slid all over the floor to the drawer and Pulle out a lid just to immediately smash it on top of the pan, covering up the oily mess and saving them from the dictatorship or violence and hatred.

Just like that it was over, they counted their wounds and embraced each other as shivers and memories crawled up their spines. They knew what have been through and they wouldn't be able to just live it down. It would stay.

The raging fire of the defeated oil could still be heard but it was contained at last, it was not out there to hurt them anymore. they were safe and sound in each other's arms. Remy squeezed the pastel blob in his arms, the slightly taller male wincing at the friction and pressure against his wounded skin. His exposed arms smelled like burned meat.

Or maybe it was just the actual minced meat cooking in the pan. They didn't know.

The sage hand turned down the heat of the stove and Virgil gently nuzzled his boyfriend's neck, his fine face quickly hidden in the collar of Remy's black jacket. Not even at home was the place for Remy to take it off. He was more comfortable in it and he absolutely was right in just how stunning and badass he looked with it decorating his biceps.

Virgil gently dove deeper into the embrace and just sighed, softly mumbling nice things, little praises and compliments for his beloved datemate. The other carefully reassured him, told him he was proud and that it was over.

The oil was still angrily boiling and loudly seizing the meat inside.

Remy carefully nudged his love and have his cheek a little smooch.

"We did it" he concluded and gently squeezed his hands. Virgil nodded, lips curved up and humming in affirmation. "You're a brave one, Rem", he shot back.

The addressed man let out a small sound, something akin to a groan. His cheeks were dusted in red feathery delight of a warm blush. He gently shook his head and peppered a few more kisses all over Virgil's scarred face.

"No, you", he softly countered.

Virgil giggled and shook his head as he pulled away and turned to the food. The smell of cooked meat was reaching up to their nostrils, spoiling and temping them with the luxurious scent of a promising meal.

His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

"Cheese?"

Remy tilted his head as he carefully pushed Virgil out of the way to stir the food without getting hurt. Even with some oil spilling around and shooting into his direction, the jacket protected him. Virgil's soft appearance wasn't covered up enough for him to be safe from the deathly syringes of oil doses. He got the hint and stumbled around to get his jacket. Emile and Remy had hade it for him.

He loved it so much.

"Yes, cheese. Of course"

The two, now oddly sober, cuddled up before the stove and got into the whole cooking process.

Virgil got cups of actual water for them at last and they both drank this. They didn't feel ask dizzy and odd anymore, nor just focused and immersed in the idea of eating food. The smell really did it to them.

Virgil had added some spices and Remy sneaked some more crisps into his mouth, occasionally feeding some to his beloved soulmate. Well, one of them.

He softly rests his head against Virgil's shoulder as he stirred cut tomatoes into the mix. Some herbs and beans were added by Virgil at this moment.

Who would have thought they would eventually get to make food at all? They certainly believed in it, during the times when they actually remembered wanting to make food.

The pastel pal snuggled up to Remy, leaning against the much stronger one and simply dozing to the delicious smell of probably just slightly burned food. Remy nudged his datemate to the couch to doze a bit. Virgil was hugging a bundle of blankets rather than covering himself up. He looked ready for more hugs as he silently whimpered for Ri to give up on the food and just cuddle him.

Meanwhile, Remy mixed grated cheese under the food and added fresh lettuce like the genius he was. His mind was young, hungry and drunk but he was also wild and free. Especially free of logic. The emptied cans were cluttered all over the kitchen and barely any space was left unoccupied from the drunk ramblings of idiot amateur cooks.

Towels, trash, cutlery and plates were all over the place, some cutting boards adding to the mix and obviously many bottles and cups. The oily mess all over the counters and the floor wasn't even spoken of at this point. There were still so many other stains in the usually so clean and tidied up kitchen. Usually, Remy would take care of cleaning the kitchen, keeping it neat and clear at all costs but right now, he was not in the mindset. He was drooling over the food the had made. It was probably way past midnight, yet he was focused on the food.

The steaming hot goddess was lazily falling from his big cooking spoons as he stirred and mixed stringy cheese into the mix of spices and meat and so so many tomatoes. Considering their state, they could have cooked worse food. The heaps of reddish "stew" heavily fell back into the pot. By now the strings of molten cheese were drawing lines and twirl through the wonderful creation.

Oregano tickled his nose.

He got a big bowl and basically spilled 80% of the stuff into it. The bowl greedily absorbed the food, taking it in and deliciously spreading itself with the tempting smell and sight. in Remy's mind, he had halved the whole drunk masterpiece of smells and tastes but reality didn't exactly reflect his beliefs accordingly.

He didn't mind the few bits of mashed-up food staining the sides around the bowl. Not that the kitchen was suddenly turned into a worse mess by this. It wasn't a significant addition but rather the cherry on top of a true mess.

Anyhow, the food was done and ready to feed them. He got three spoons in all his laziness and wobble his tickling legs into the living room with his love. Emile would be bs ck soon and he would be able to eat with them and enjoy it along with them. It was just a matter of minutes, right?

The goth popped up next to Virgil, dropping the bowl on the table with the flattering spoons clashing onto the glass table in front of them. Virgil was curled up in his corner, stubbornly and lovingly hugging the pile of pink blankets. They had a rose pattern all over them. As much as Remy adored seeing the contrast of Virgil's mostly white and pastel pink appearance with the more intense rose colour and the floral patterns. Green and reddish hues seemed so stark and radical next to the soft colour scheme that he presented with his peaceful figure of a dozing drunk cuddlebug. Still, the knowledge this used to be a gift his ex had given him didn't sit right with him. Not exactly, at least.

Remy nudged him.

"Love, the food is done", he gently reminded him, him voice pressing against its ground and keeping it as low. It was a ducked down figure in a dark corridor at night when everyone was asleep but the little figure that was the voice.

"huhmm", the pastel punk mumbled softly and stirred ever so slightly, his curled up body opening up for Remy to fill his arms rather than the blanket. His halfway covered face was more visible by now since he tilted it a bit.

Remy smiled a tad.

"Come over love", he invited gently and patted his lap as he brushed over Virgil's arched back with his other hand. "mwmm"

Remy hummed back in return.

The pastel bean shifted over into his boyfriend's lap, resting himself in it with the upper half of his body as he curled up on the new space, now with his arms loosely wrapped around nothing but the love between them.

He felt Remy brush one hand through his dyed hair and his lungs immediately relieved a breath which came out in the form of a sigh. The smaller of the two giggled.

He hummed.

''You slee..sleeby..?'', he asked softly, his voice ending in a low hum.

Thoughts and words were mentally swirling around like noodles in a nostalgic childhood soup. You know – the ones with noodle letters in it. They were aimlessly whooshing from side to side, queerly dancing in an uncertain rhythm with uncoordinated movements guiding them into the unknown. Neither Virgil nor Remy were ready to bring order into the mess of lost letters and unconnected pieces.

There was some sense between them when Virgil basically purred under the ghastly touches, these bare fingers gracing his skull and caressing his pounding head. The tall man curled up into a ball, reaching out to lazily grab one of the hands Remy needed to keep around him somewhere. In his hazy state of mind, Virgil just somewhat expected a random Remy-hand to float around before him because surely the hand to touch him was in front of him .. logically. Yes, he totally deduced that by means of not looking around because his eyes were so heavy with the pleasure of being touched so delicately, the satisfaction of being handled with great care as if he was a fragile glass of thin sugar – just a moment about to break apart, melt away or dissolve into sugary water.

Sadly, his extremely intense and complex calculations turned out to be – surprisingly – wrong after all, leaving Virgil wondering just how he ended up with an empty handful of nothing but all the needs for more body contact he had harboured in it before his attempt at catching more of at least one of his beloved datemates. Involuntarily, he let out a sound of disagreement, a sort of angry hamster sound.

His hand fell over Remy's lap, simply collapsing over it with the sound of frustration and slight anger accompanying the dramatic fall of his unmotivated limb. Virgil instinctively curled further into his fetal position as Remy tried his best to conceal the chuckle rumbling up from within his chest.

He was trembling with amusement but, picking up on the distressed Virgil-sounds, he reminded himself to maintain at least a small amount of countenance in order to not repeatedly poke his sensitivities. The goth was not making fun of him after all or finding his distress to be somewhat entertaining at all. His drunk brain just... short-circuited at how adorable yet odd his lovely idiot sounded when he randomly stretched out his arm just to immediately let it flop down onto his lap and just groan at it as if moving was the worst punishment to ever happen to him.

Virgil's hands were already working up to his hood, confused finger tips tugging at it and letting it clumsily slip through them because fabric was so hard to hold onto. His uncoordinated grip on them caused him to lose his motion many times as Remy leaned back to give him the space he needed to curl his fingers around the hem of his hood. He squealed and screeched in anger at the exhaustive process of getting this right.

Eventually, though, he got his fingers tightly buried in the hood, knuckles turning white as his tired kind just moved his head along with motioning the hood to lower over his head and prevent the access Remy's gentle fingers used to have to his soft hair.

''Oh, darling, nu'', Remy tried softly, his voice attempting to reach out to the closed off taller bean before him. ''Hey there, lil' coff'he bean''

He poked around, carefully searching to reach the long nose in the excess of fabric that stretched over a great part of Virgil's face. It averted itself when Remy fianlly got around to brush against his nose.

''Nu'', he spat out at once, his hands trying to pull the blanket over him as well.

Remy patted his head but the so-called ''coffee bean'' was retreating and hissing at him.

''Com'on, my coff' bean'', he cooed once more, his voice softly sneaking into Virgil's mind, into his heart. Slowly and surely, it got around to actually stop his fingers from pawing at the damned blanket. This cursed stupid pink fabric with its silly roses and vines all over it.

...M.. Shtupid.. roses.. n stupid ''Princey'' guy.. This was their Virg. Theirs only.

Remy kept himself from narrowing his eyes at the enemy. There was no time to be jealous when his little bean curled away from him. This was worse heartache to him than a past lover he and Emile had clearly helped Virgil get over. He nudged him again and the pastel ball returned another hazy noise in reply. It sounded much like a stubborn ''nu-uh!''

''I didn ..laugh about yu, my dear'' He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes patiently. '' 'm just laughed b'cuz ..am so hap-...happ...happy to be wif..wiff you-you'', he started, a little hiccup interrupting him, ''and to see you“

Another hiccup rudely disrupted his flow of speech.

''in mah lap, hun.''

The charcoal-clad man nudged his love's cheek tentatively, barely managing to draw a response from him. ''mmm.... mean'', he retorted insistently.

''Virgiiiiiiiiiiiil'', he whined at once, ''I made fuuuuuuud!'' He inhaled deeply, sitting a moment for the dramatic effect. Or really, he was just waiting because his mind drew a blank on whatever else he had intended to say at some point in time. Uh.. he had made food.. there was food and he was with Virgil and he made the fud for him and Emi and.. uh..

Ah! Yes!

Remy blinked excitedly and nodded to himself, congratulating his genius of a mind that suddenly recovered the thought process lost to the alcohol dampening and slowing down his cognition. He leaned in, bowing deep over the protesting bundle of purple and black. From the lack of words, he wanted to think that Virgil was dozing off and forgetting about the little misunderstanding between them.

''If yu... wan...nn..wanna'', he slowly suggested, ''I can.. feeed you-hoooo''

Virgil slowly blinked, his eyelids breaking open to reveal his dark embers of small orbs.

''Mh?'', he murmured. His head pushed back to Remy's lap and quickly nudged his chubby stomach with careful, uncoordinated movements of a person not just anything but sober but also sleepy and full of feelings.

He tasted love on his lips and gently brushed his tongue over them. ''Ri'', he demanded, voice soft with sleep and heavy in the exhaustion from fighting to stay awake, stay conscious and mindful of his surrounding enough to understand his present datemate at least.

The addressed man patted his hooded head softly.

''Com’up'', he mumbled back and tugged at the sleepy giant in his lap. Virgil was soon sagged against Remy but at least sitting. His left still fruitlessly brushed over Remy's lap.

Hug... He.. He wanted a hug.. Hug.. Hug Remy.

''Riiii'', he soothed softly, voice still just a whisper if any. The goth drew an arm around him and pulled him closer against his shoulder. ''M here, hon'', he assured patiently, mind already wondering just what they were doing again, '' gotcha close.''

He nuzzled the top of his head and carefully left a not of his love on it with a little peck.

Virgil snuggled up to him, his body fitting just perfectly to his side. They were a perfect match, all that was missing was a bit of food now. And a bit of Emile, of course. Emi would make it all perfect. Remy drew him closer and simply let them hug one another for a bit longer. More like waiting for Virgil to slowly gather up his energy and bodily control to eventually embrace the other fully and just rest in each other's love.

The taller one hummed against his collarbone, eyes comfortably closed in contentment.

''You said.. fud..?''

Remy laughed.

''Yeah''

*** The night draped over the village, hugging every little building and lamp post for comfort and love as it lovingly warmed everyone into a world of dreams and happy thoughts. It was the end of the day, it was late and actually almost time for yet another day.

Emile rubbed his eyes, keys to his car jingling in his hands as he approached the door. He had never expected a catch-up to take this long but the afternoon just spun further and further into a late evening and eventually, they had switched locations in order to extend their get-together beyond the point of midnight.

Any texts of updating information to his lovers had been to no avail. Emile thought they were having too much of a good time or perhaps even went to sleep when 3 am had arrived. He did not know how they were doing but he trusted them to be fine, to relish in just being two chaotic yet lovely cryptids together.

He straightened out his dark blue suit and ran a hand through the strawberry blonde mess of formerly gelled-back hair.

His hands worked to unlock the door and once he stepped inside, he shut the door behind him. At once, a certain.. smell hit his nostrils.

He was not sure what it was but it was obvious that the flat had not been aired out properly. The air was thick enough to try and grab a piece out of it. And the scent? It reminded him of a greasy fast-food truck. If he had to guess, maybe something like chilli cheese hot-dogs? He was not sure but there was something spicy in the hair.

It kinda stung.

Emile blinked and switched on the light, quickly taking off his dark overcoat and the first layer of his suit along with his dress shoes. He was left standing in his vest that was hugging his firm statue, accentuating each and every part of his muscular body.

A part of him wanted to call out for his beloved ones but he knew them, he knew the partying souls living in the calm giant that was the pastel-soft Virgil. He was more than familiar with the outgoing and extra kind of behaviour Remy would display with just a bit of party around or in him. He did not intend to torture them with loud noises when he knew they were wild spirits just waiting to run free and roam around without any constraints. They deserved to rest well after partying hard, to be honest.

Emile slowly moved into the bedroom just to find it .. void of the silent snores and little shuffles that came from the drunk sleep of his beloved mates. Instead, there was nothing and he simply frowned at the empty bed. The bed was made, still so it was obviously untouched. Nothing had happened here and none of his lovers happened here for sure.

A part of him wanted to call out for them by now but something held him back. This something was lingering within him as he peacefully stripped his body off the suit and changed into his pyjamas. When he came across his phone, he decided to tap their contacts and just call one of them and then the other, just in case they went out and one did not pick up at first. With the two being tipsy or even drunk, there was no knowing for sure.

He put the phone on speaker and got into his flannel PJs.

Toot.

Toot..

Faintly, somewhere, he could hear something. At first it was so distant and weak, he nearly overheard it, due to the sound of his pyjama stretching over his body being louder than the faint tone in the background. However, once he stilled his movements and stopped dead in his tracks, he was able to identify a sound - even the nature of it.

“I’m on the battlefield like OH MY GOD”

It was Remy’s ringtone.

“Yes, I’m a one woman army”

Emile blinked, the song now clear as day in his mind as he finally identified the muffled sounds. He picked up his phone, fingers flying to grip it and shut the loudspeaker.

“oh la la, oh la la ~”

The song was indicating him to come closer, luring him in and playing hint for his curiosity. The mind was working as he took it step by step through the dark apartment. The end of his pants were dragging over the floor as he sneaked over the ground, his feet merely separating from it with every step he took. His feet ate every bit of sound as he walked, progressing at a speed so slow and cautious, he felt as if he was walking on eggshells rather than the socks Remy had made him by hand.

The sound was getting closer, the persistent, cocky voicelines of the singer were shooting through his mind as he carefully approached the scene. Before him was the darkness leading up to the kitchen. The light from their bedroom was illuminating his way to it.

With a usual movement as if everything was as it used to be, as if there had never been a war and losses in this field of tragedy and blood, Emile switched on the lights and revealed the graveyard of oil and hopes.

The sight was quite a bit- Pans and pots were stacked on top of one another. Spread over a turned off stove and the abused sink who witnessed it all. Stains of any kind seemed to repaint the counter, floor and partly even the ... the ceiling? How did they do that! Unbeknownst to Emile, the horrors of battle drew consequences nobody would be able to imagine. Of course it would paint the world into a new picture, it would change reality and distort beauty into true abominations of cruelty.

There was a bloody puddle of oil on the floor, a pool of death juice tainting the world of the living with what used to be, what used to exist and live and grow. It was no more.

He slowly, respectfully stepped forward, deeper into the red flags of the forbidden zone. There was desolation and chaos. Cutlery, foods and spills whatever in any place and spot free enough to accommodate it. His feet slowed as he progressed further into the field of war, the area of missing people and lost souls.

He walked through the mess, skipping over dead utensils and empty packages. There were bottle caps all around and the worst was little glitter particles and sparkles all around. Maybe they had mixed drinks with glitter. In the context of the battlefield, it looked like the luck and happiness that used to wield yet now it was broken and scattered in the wind of change, the breeze of ends.

Emile watched the drain in horror as he identified tiny pieces of fruit stuck in it. Cocktail cherry bodies blocking the water from ever flowing into the sweet relief of the sewers. It was forever trapped in the sink along with the dying cutlery.

He strove through the devastated lands, through the chaos and destruction. His eyes did not see the past, did not see the struggle to stay alive - to be safe. He was blessed with the ignorance of arriving fashionably late to the scene and just luckily skip out on all the war. He never had to experience the torture of the oil giant. Emile did not even realise how much of a chosen man he was with the entitlement of being spared with mercy and love.

His innocent soul floated above the rotten land, the stabbed and wretched floors and towels soaked with tears, blood and sweat. The salt of ruined soil was poisoning the roots of a new generation. He simply skipped through it, free of guilt or memories. He was not drawn to the tragedy of what used to be. Instead, he marched over to the living-room to finally find the treasure he had been looking for. His flannel-clad self, the pirate of the suffering lands was here to take advantage of the tired soldiers of oil wars.

As unexpected, there was a bundle of black and a bundle of rose snuggled up together, the colours weirdly merging into one fusion of softness. The pattern of roses naturally fit the blackness it was curled up around. It seemed like the most natural occurrence, a home-grown batch of adorableness. Emile blinked, his eyes behind his glasses still needing to adjust to the dark image before him. It was dark because he refused to switch on the lights when his loves could and actually did camp in this space.

“You two are lucky I love you so much”

His whisper slowly weighed down onto them, gracing them in their sleep and rocking them in warmth and affection. They were in the lap of love and safety, dressed in their own schemes and shenanigans with contentment painting their features and highlighting their position with lazy sparkles and soft contact to one another.

Emile bowed over them to draw another blanket over the two, just to make sure to cover them both in the warm coziness they deserved.

For another short moment, he relished in seeing the two embracing one another, Virgil curled against Remy and holding him so close, he would usually fear the other could suffocate - yet he knew better than to worry about them. Remy enjoyed a surprisingly large amount of squishing and a comparably lousy amount of space for sleeping.

After this, he slowly and softly walked away, step by step, back to the bedroom to nap on his own, all alone in their big big bed. He snuggled up with his excess of blankets and soon enough fell into a deep sleep, completely unbothered by everything that used to be and will be. For now, everything was different and so cool compared to how it would be per default but that did not mean his night could not be nice. Relieving dreams soon settled in his mind, abandoning all possible worries in his mind.

Morning was soon to come.

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spacegaywritings · 4 years ago

Text

Warming Paws and melting Walls (5/8) “Territorial Revenge”

Summary: Nobody responded within a week and so Remy made sure to inform Emile so they could repaint the office. Virgil does not like being alone for long, especially when it is unexpected.

Luckily, the two are quick to make up.

Tags: animal waster, cat litter box, urine, descriptions of urine smell, cleaning, a bit of fighting bc this is an upset kitty, food and eating mention, feeding, late nights, metal clanking sound, vaccine mention, vet mention, slight restrictions of breathing? Pining mention, auditory triggers, migraine mention, somft feelings, more snuggles and cuddles, kitty gone bad boi,

i do not think there is any more to be applied. If you need me to add anything, please contact me here or on my tumblr (spacegayparty, spacegaywritings)

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me

ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 // all.

tumblr: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (you are here!) / 6 / 7 / 8.

Story under the cut: (Wordcount ~3,1k)

Metal clattered together as the key within the lock pressed deeper into it and started turning in order to open the door at last. The light sound filled the cool air. Eventually, the metal keys fell against the dark colour, wooden door and with a particularly loud ‘knack’ of the door, the lock gave way and the way was free.

Remy finally stepped into his home.

It was dark already but that did not stop him from wanting to go home, it encouraged him even further. He was the kind of person to change the night but with Virgil waiting for him, there was an intense urge to just be with the little pet. The darkness outside his apartment was driving him to be faster when the hours passed and passed.

He had cleaned everything with Emile, right after fucking painting it all and reorganising two fucking offices. It was work. It was a lot of work but it was paid extra work on top of that, yet Remy was not exactly a fan of it. The man liked doing his thing, being left alone a bit but also having some non-annoying or intrusive/persistent social interaction. But.. working with Emile all day was as lovely as it could be exhaustive.

That pal did not gossip enough! Remy wanted to talk about chill things, not how he hated or did not hate his parents and whatnot.

Sometimes he wondered whether people moved away and went to other therapists so they would be safe from all their dreadful puns. Maybe it helped in therapy? He did not know but it made him feel fluttered and warm all the same. Still, it would get him to feel nauseous after some time. Maybe Emile played into his auditory triggers - too many words in too little time.

Remy stepped into his home and closed the door.

The sound of shutting it echoed through the vast emptiness in his apartment. Actually, there was so much nothing, it really filled the complete living space.

Strange..

All he could notice was a certain smell.. a pungent, intense smell. It was odd and he could not quite place it.

It sort of reminded him of...

Oh no.

He carefully switched on the light.

Whenever he used his lights, he could not help but be glad about having found proper lamps that did not cause too much eye strain at once. People who developed and invented ideas for dim light bulbs and lamps that were made to be comfortable rather than stinging in illumination were simply saints and he would never back away from this opinion. Those were fucking heroes because they helped the dumb minorities like him that was too Extra (tm) to live with regular things.

When the dim lights, he loved so much, showered the hallway in golden warmth, he noticed.. a weird bit of something on the floor.

Please please no.

“Virgil?”

He called into the void, for the void.

Nothing came back.

Was the cat okay?

Remy carefully made his way over to the weird something on the floor. It looked like spilled liquid, somewhat translucent and odd.

Did... Did Virgil vomit or pee onto the floor? Holy fuck, it smelled awful in the most indescribable ways. He did not want to describe it anyway, let alone sniff it enough to figure out certain components of the smell or any similarities to other scents.

...Oh dear fuck.

The smell - It was cat pee. Virgil had decided to fucking ruin his floor right in front of the little cat toilet he had put up.

Well... that was it, he supposed. It had been a dream that Remy did not really have to “potty train” the kitten since it came with a lot of good manners already. That was so much of an indicator that the cat was from somewhere, that they were civilised and socialised.

Still, after weeks of no answers, Remy had cut the search and was happy to call the cat his own (albeit he never said so but the smiles on his face were more frequent than before and even his migraines seemed more at ease - not to mention how rare they had become).

But it was too nice to have a cat - a first pet - that just was clean and trained and would use the litter box accordingly.

“I swear, you are going to kill me, Queen. I just cleaned it in the morning. It cannot be that bad, can it?”

He already moved to open a few windows and make sure the horrible smell would yield to the fresh air of the evening.

Maybe he should not have been outside for so long without sending anyone over to check on Virgil and catsit after all. Remy admitted he should look into some silly students who needed the money and would be happy about just cuddling a cat and being able to have some WIFI and such.

But really, he had not planned to stay outside for that long. He had wanted to run over and check in on the dust ghost during his lunch break. Sadly, Emile did have that sort of amnesia effect on him. His horny brain went dumb and forgot all the important logic and memory. Therefore, he had been too stupid from love to really think about Virgil needing him at that moment.

Next time, he would discuss this with Emile beforehand. One mistake was alright as long as nobody was hurt and he learned from it.

With black bags under his eyes and shades perched up on the top of his head, he grabbed a few tissues, gloves and a mop and got ready to clean up. Excitement as great as it could have been in such a situation, he got down to clean up and once done, he finished up over there and tended to the litter box.

Nearly empty. There was like, the usual stuff but it was not much because he had cleaned it in the morning - on purpose!

“Are you fucking kidding me? Virgil, why would you do this?”

A deep groan of annoyance split his lips. He got up to remove the bit of waste that was still residing inside. It just took a few moment and it was already done. He disposed of the dirt properly and put his cleaning utensils into the dedicated space.

A tinge of worry hit him as he did so. The cleanness was achieved at last but what about Vi- Just then, a streak of black crossed his view.

“Virgil!”

His tone was low, touching a bit into the territory of a parent. Specifically, when a goody two shoes did something wrong and the parents got all “I am not mad, just disappointed”.

The kitten ducked away and whipped its tail down before slowly swishing it from side to side.

They almost looked ready to fight and as if Remy had provoked it, the void suddenly jumped at his black boot - yes, just one. This was one smol individual and they had yet to be tol enough to attack two Remy feet at once. Soft paws drummed onto the shoe and the ball of charcoal furry was hissing and scratching.

“Hey! Ow-”, Remy hissed back in surprise and slight aggravation, “Virgil, what the fuck!”

The cat jumped back and Remy quickly dropped his jacket, revealing a black sweat shirt he was wearing underneath.

The angry cat hissed at the man and ducked and arched their back. Then, they went in for the fight, now aiming at his knees. A pair of claws jumped at him, so Remy committed himself to the idiocy of catching the cat and picking them up.

Virgil did not get his knees but they did catch some skin of his arms.

“What is wrong with you, gurl? Do you want to play? This is some shit way to tell me about it, queen. You pissed on my floor.”

Virgil hissed again and Remy blinked in incomprehension. He should learn more about cats or something. Like, take a course in cat training because this whole behaviour was too sudden and confusing for him to make sense of it. These acts were so contrary to what they had done before to him. Even at the start of their relationship they had been somewhat loving towards once another.

He did not want to admit it but.. the cat rejecting him kind of stung. Yeah, his attacked shoes were also a point of inconvenience he did not really approve of but they were manageable.

The cat was down on the ground again but definitely not down-to-earth. They were already spitting fireballs at the belated arrival and Remy was cursed with being puzzled forever since they could not communicate and explain what happened.

Remy was unfortunate to think of Virgil as playfully fighting him. By instinct or whatever.

“Hey Queen, if you wanna play, can you just give me a minute or two, so I can eat? I want to exist, too, and you need to eat as well.”

He collected the food and water bowl and made sure to fill everything properly. Virgil had abandoned him again in favour of creepily staring at him from afar. The tail was swishing like a clock’s ticking arms. And they were counting his time until being brought to justice by Black Cat Law, aka The Void Law.

The cat owner emerged from the kitchen, filled bowls filling his hands.

Dry food, just a bit - minimal amounts. Wet food - the main source of sustenance for the kitty cat. Water - because kitty cat got free bowls of water twice a day, thrice when at work with him.

Remy put it back into place and the kitten quickly returned to retrieve the food.

“Yeah, now you are happy, are you not?”

The cat very much ignored him so they could feast upon the bouts of food brought to them. Finally their slave human was working again and feeding them as he was supposed to.

Rude to just take an unannounced break.

“Yeah, I should have expected you to be bitchy without food. You are just like me, are you not, little honey?”

A chuckle could be heard as he took a little moment to relish in the sounds coming from the Void of Darkness and Fire (tm) purring and chewing. The noises were barely audible but Remy has started picking up the most silent ones. It helped him detect the kitten’s feelings or locations when he needed to tend to the cat. Also, it made finding the cat easier for when he wanted to give them a little goodbye-snuggle before going to work.

The urge to cuddle the cat right now was strong but he made sure to not do it.

Cats hated that, as much as sources told him. Sources were the internet and people and also a book he had gotten by now. And the vet he had visited once more after he decided to keep the cat since nobody seemed to care enough. Also, vaccines.

Other than that, Virgil also scratched him once he tried to snuggle them while eating. This was only legal when Virgil was already snuggled up to him due to pure pity they felt for him. Such a Queen.

“You are too good for anyone, kitty. I am sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”

No answer - but the black blob of fur seemed to be at ease with the food and water. This was a start, he thought to himself. Remy still felt guilty for leaving them alone for so long. Then again, he had expected to have the time and get home for a little bit during his lunch break but that did not work out, somehow. And going after his official working hours was not okay.

He should give someone his keys so they could look after the little Queen of Salt for a bit when he had to stay away longer.

What if an emergency ever came up?

His head shook the thoughts of darkness and anxiety away. Instead, he busied his empty hands with the simple task of reheating some food he had made before. Tomorrow he would get some chicken for his kitten to make up for being so neglectful and thoughtless. He needed to be more considerate and accept his responsibilities. After all, he was some kind of caretaker right now - a cat parent, if you will.

Remy leaned back and took a deep breath.

“Virgiiiiil ~”, he cooed softly and took out a little kitty treat.

Just one.

It was not just for his guilty conscience but also for the cat to know he did not mean to. Virgil needed assurance and the stability of life. Giving him some sort of praise for being alone all day - for literally at least 10 hours - was appropriate, he supposed.

The kitten was already done with their bowl of food and was currently drinking when the smell of more food and the sound of Remy’s - their owner’s voice - reached them. They sensed being called over and looked up from their bowl, licking their muzzle and nose with a satisfied look on their face.

“Kitty cat”, he purred again and the void gently let their tail swish just a bit above the floor for a few single strands of their fur to trace over the dark ground.

They purred back in solidarity. Soft paws sunk into the similarly dark floor. The kitty took one step after the other and slowly progressed, body slightly lethargic from the recent intake of food. The ball of fur and mischief made their way over to Remy and sniffed the air.

A determination ruled their fine movements.

Ah, yes. More food.

Good human.

Their eyes sparked at the man, radiating praise and appreciation.

Remy smiled in return and carefully nudged his hand close enough for Virgil to nibble at the treat. Immediately, they welcome it into their mouth. Without realising it, the owner visibly relaxed, the air standing in his lungs was flowing out of his nostrils and allowed him to inhale deeply. His posture eased up and his shoulders were now more straightened and calm compared to before. St a few moments ago, the weight of guilt tore down his body and forced his back to be crooked along with pushing his shoulders into a hunching position.

No more guilt was crushing him anymore, though. The cat had accepted his apology and was carefully pushing their head into Remy’s idle palm. The feeling of warmth, a bit of dampness and furry delight was tickling the receptors in his hand. The warmth travelled up to his chest, spreading throughout all of his body in the process.

“You are too good for me. Aw, Virgil. Little Queen of Salt”, he purred and gently shifted to lean over and started brushing over the smooth and slightly shining fur of his little companion.

His left was holding the curious head of a peculiar kitty cat and he gently started scritching their chin - well, the underside of their chin. It was a bit lighter than the rest of their body. At least, this is what it seemed like to him. It felt warmer and more brownish, yet just as lovely as the rest of them.

Peaceful purring filled the room with soft sounds and calming noise instead of haunting silence

“I love you too”, he chuckled.

Maybe he did not know everything about cats, nor did he understand all his little sass-bean was trying to express with their general body posture, the position of their torso or their tail either - really, he did not know much at all - but he was still trying his best. He certainly was getting better at it and this counted, did it not? Also, it was not like he did not try to educate himself. His workplace naps were replaced by reading in his “cat bible” and literally taking notes.

Hands gently curled around the food-filled body of a satisfied little void. Cradling the coal cat in his arms, he held them close to his heart and walked over to their couch.

“Does my little storm cloud want to cuddle?”

His voice was a low coo and the kitten responded with audible purrs and an enthusiastic bonk when their heads crushed together again.

Ow.

... He would totally never get used to cats showing affection like that.

Well, still worth it.

Apparently, cats did that to show love or some trash. Whatever, Virgil barely ever did it but it got more and more frequent after their first days together. Now it was more often instead of rarely but it certainly was not the most usual and common thing between them.

Still, it could change. At the moment he just wanted to relish in the warmth of their cuddles and the comfort of their intimacy.

Remy flopped onto the couch and left the cat on his chest while he simply laid down flat onto his back like a lazy plank swimming in the water. Just floatin’... simply going with the flow, adapting to any wave.

The cat returned the action by softly pushing their paws into his ribs. Lungs complained due to the compromised volume for more precious and essential oxygen. Not that Remy cared.. nor did Virgil have the cognitive ability to care.

“You having fun there, kitty?”

This cat was royalty and Remy would continue to lay around and simply have them run up and down his body. All he wanted to do was.... just take off his pants and such and put on a more comfortable and flexible pyjama. Falling asleep in tight jeans was not as great (they were great for getting some looks from his boss, though). The idea of moving around right now was just as unpleasant as the idea of falling asleep and waking up in the pants he had worked and sweated in all day.

Unfazed by anything, the void was simply preparing their human bed for a little longer before settling down onto his ribcage...warm and pressing. Just a tad uncomfortable.

“Okay, there you go-”

Yes, this was love.

Remy was too exhausted and comfortable to feel too bothered by his air flow being obstructed. Slowly, he felt himself drift off. The man was soon in a light version of a slumber and gradually become a victim to the sweet relief of a little nap. The discomfort of sweaty and smelly clothes was forgotten when exhaustion took over. The overwhelming state of being physically drained got the best of him.

All good sentiment was forgotten when the comfort of a good cat and a warm home hugged him.

Bye bye meal he had wanted to have. He was already satisfied in other way.

He was home.

This was heaven.

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crinaboros · 7 years ago

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How Romania sold out its workers to foreign investors for IMF and EU cash

by CRINA BOROŞ, Investigate Europe | The Black Sea, 24 October 2017

Welcome to the minimum wage society

Photo: The People’s House in Bucharest houses Romania’s Parliament, by JOHNNY GREEN, July 2017, Bucharest, Romania

Romania’s leaders sold off their citizens’ rights and kept their wages at rock-bottom to satisfy foreign investor lobbyists and billion-Euro lenders from the EU and IMF, argue labour experts and unions

Romania was used as a ‘guinea pig’ by foreign investors with the support of lenders, as a test case in the EU to weaken workers’ rights to bargain for higher salaries, details academic research

Romania is a country viewed as an economic miracle in the European Union.

Its unemployment hovers around five per cent, its growth rate is an EU best of over five per cent, and its GDP grows five per cent each year.

The statistics are clear: the country is booming.

But a closer look inside Romania reveals a shocking reality - crippling poverty, widespread labour exploitation, low purchasing power and a mass emigration by working-age citizens from all its regions.

How has the country become an economist’s dream and a worker’s nightmare?

A key reason is that Romania is a country of a cheap and flexible labour force, where most workers are defenceless in the face of their employers, and the minimum wage is a reference salary for millions.

With one in three Romanians trapped in a contract on the lowest possible salary, this country contains a dumping ground of cheap and desperate labour within the EU.

How did this happen?

Forced to liberalise its labour market by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the European Commission (EC), and following intense lobbying from foreign investors, Romanian officials demolished the country’s power to bargain with employers for decent wages, and pushed people from stable jobs into precarious circumstances.

Labour researchers believe over 40 per cent of workers in Romania are on the minimum wage, if unofficial jobs are factored into the figures. Meanwhile, the latest Government data shows that around 30 per cent of total contracts pay the national minimum wage or under. This is still a massive number, and contrasts with nine per cent in Germany.

“In other countries, the minimum wage is the ceiling below which you shouldn’t pay. In Romania, it is an orientation mark!” says Stephan Meuser, head of Friedrich Ebert Stiftung in Romania, a political foundation close to Germany’s Social Democratic Party.

So what is stopping the Government from securing a better than minimum wage from west European big business, who are shifting production and services eastward?

Its own laws.

Photo: Three-quarters of Romania retail workers - over 0.5 million people - have no access to union protection, argue syndicate leaders, by JOHNNY GREEN, July 2017, Bucharest, Romania

Operation: Target Labour Rights

The attack on workers’ rights kicked off in 2008. As the global financial crash hit Europe, Romania was in a cash-flow crisis.

Desperate for money, it agreed to a 20-billion Euro bailout package in March 2009. The lenders were the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the European Commission, the World Bank (WB), and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD).

The IMF put up the largest sum: 13 billion Euro.

But this was not charity. The cash came with conditions. The lenders wanted Romania to deregulate its labour market. The secretary general of the union Cartel Alfa, Petru Dandea, sat in the negotiations. In the meetings, he says that the EC and the IMF were keen to push for a flexible labour market, although the Commission did not specify how Romanian officials should loosen its labour laws.

But an IMF technical memorandum from 2010 shows their experts were involved in helping draft the country’s Social Dialogue policy - the process of negotiation between workers, unions, employers and Government - and review the existing Labour Code, to replace Romania’s old regulations.

“Before end-December (after consultation with social partners and with the IMF, the World Bank and the European Commission), we will send a revised social dialog code and an improved labor code to parliament,” reads a document written by then-Finance Minister Gheorghe Ialomiţianu.

Avoiding any public debate, Romania's leaders launched draconian anti-labour policies. These were aimed at attacking workers' rights and reducing its unionised workforce, which dropped from approximately 90 per cent in 1991 to 20 per cent of workers today, according to Conect Association, an advocacy group.

In 2011, the Democratic Liberal-led Government of Prime Minister Emil Boc axed Romania’s yearly bargained National Contract from the old Labour Code. This contract contained a salary grid that forced businesses to factor in a person’s education level, professional skills and experience when calculating their pay.

With this protection removed, employers only had to comply with one law: paying the minimum wage.

Leaders of Cartel Alfa union, the National Union Block (BNS), the Retail Unions Federation and Conect Association agree this was a blow to salaries, and opened the door to a country where around a third of contracted staff are on the lowest wage possible.

Behind this move were large multinationals. According to Petru Dandea and other union leaders, major corporate lobbying groups in Romania, the Foreign Investors Council (FIC) and the American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham) had been relentlessly lobbying for a more flexible labour market since 2002 - well before the crash.

But AmCham is proud to see the law move in a direction more favourable to its members. Today the group’s spokesperson Andreea Roma believes that the new code “has had a positive impact on Romania’s economic growth”.

Meanwhile the Foreign Investors Council (FIC) also admits that it was instrumental in proposing the new changes. It took part in “over 20 meetings with officials and other organisations” to discuss the 2011 Labour Code and policy on Social Dialogue, according to spokesman Radu Burnete.

The group submitted their labour-related proposals for the Government’s consideration in 2010. Among their requests, they asked officials to facilitate short-term hire, particularly temporary and zero-hour contracts.

This would allow companies to avoid full or part-time employment commitment and commission work for brief periods.

In other words, companies would not need contracts with their staff, and they could hire workers by text message the day before with the number of work hours available - this could be eight, or it could be zero.

Photo: Workers’ rights to bargain for wage rises “smashed” by new law, Petru Dandea, union leader, by JOHNNY GREEN, July 2017, Bucharest, Romania

European Commission: interference without the right?

The collective bargaining system was “smashed” due to the new law, complains Petru Dandea. Since 2011, four-fifths of all wage negotiations held at company level have been concluded without legitimate workers' representatives, he argues.

Now close to a third of the workforce receive the minimum wage - 1,846,498, if registered freelancers are included. “We are paid as if we were a country of unqualified workers,” complains the trade unionist.

The European Commission encouraged this practice. In 2012, a new government in Bucharest announced that it would undo the reforms and make country-wide collective agreements possible again. Officials for Olli Rehn - then EU Commissioner for Economic and Monetary Affairs - together with the IMF, attacked the proposal.

“We strongly urge the authorities to ensure that national wage agreements do not contain elements related to wages and/or reverse the progress achieved in the labour code in 2011,” they wrote to the government. The American Chamber of Commerce issued a similar letter of protest. The ‘troika’ lenders also called on officials not to introduce annual collective bargaining. The government gave up the plan.

With this intervention, Rehn and his officials staked a claim to a right to which they were not entitled. Article 153 of the EU’s Lisbon Treaty, which describes the tasks of the Union regarding social policy and work standards, states that the EU and its agencies have no competence to regulate wages. In the letter above, Rehn’s officials only ‘strongly urge’ - the text of which means ‘we are not telling you to do this’, the subtext of which most would understand to mean ‘we are telling you to do this’.

In practise, the Commission was more intrusive, argue witnesses. The leader of Romania’s National Union Bloc (Blocul National Sindical - BNS) Dumitru Costin, who was also part of many negotiations with Romania’s ‘troika’ lenders, confirmed that the European Commission discussed setting wages.

“Of course wage-setting was discussed! The only wage-setting topic the Commission is interested in is the mechanism behind establishing the national minimum wage,” says Costin.

Costin and Dandea say that during Romania’s meetings with the ‘Troika’ lenders, the Commission did not oppose the business lobbyists’ suggestions on how laws on workers’ rights should change. “They were accomplices,” argues Costin.

We approached Rehn, who is today a member of the board of the Finnish Central Bank, but he declined to be interviewed on these meddling allegations with the labour reforms of other countries, and whether the EU was acting outside of its jurisdiction.

Right to Fight Back Attacked

Want to form a union in Romania?

It should be easy.

The Romanian Constitution says “Citizens may freely associate into political parties, trade unions, employers' associations, and other forms of association”.

And this has international confirmation.

The European Convention of Human Rights gives workers “the right to form trade unions for the protection of members' interests”.

But these two legal obstacles did not get in the way of Romania’s labour reform.

Before 2011, a minimum of 15 people from the same profession, working for different employers within the same industry could form a union.

The new Social Dialogue Act from 2011 said those 15 now needed to work for the same company, and they cannot include freelancers.

But even if workers can form a union, it could be powerless. If a union wants the recognition to bargain for higher wages within a firm, it must have a membership of 50 per cent plus one of all employees in that company - and big retailers in Romania employ upwards of 15,000. This is a vast number for a union to enlist.

“Every year, the bargaining power of workers is diminishing and you get into a situation where roughly half of the persons get or end up with the minimum wage,” says Stephan Meuser.

Romanian unions accuse the then-Boc Government of passing policy that barred their access to the negotiating table, leaving employees in precarious situations.

“I call it the Anti-Social Dialogue Act,” says Retail Union Federation president Vasile Gogescu. “It was passed to almost dissolve the collective bargaining contract.”

No protection for vast majority of shop-workers

The numbers quoted by unions paint a grim picture of the impact of 2011’s Social Dialog Act.

This has hit the boom sectors of shops and warehouses.

There are at least 800,000 employees in Romania’s retail sector, which has been key in the last three years to fuelling the country’s consumer-led growth.

Of these, over 600,000 work for companies with fewer than 15 members of staff, according to Gogescu.

This means three-quarters of some of Romania’s most vulnerable workers cannot have access to union protection.

Workers also have little control over their job requirements. “Countless tasks and responsibilities are piling up,” says Gogescu, “and contracts [stipulating the requirements of the job] end with the sentence ‘And any other assignment designated by the line manager’. This means that you can never refuse a job.”

According to a report from Conect Association, in 2015, there were 468,374 enterprises with fewer than 15 employees, comprising 1.29 million employees. This reveals a huge number deprived of protection from a collectively-bargained contract.

The association’s president Rodica Novac says the Social Dialogue policy was passed without any assessment of its public impact, or consideration of the realities of Romania’s labour market.

“There are companies who don’t favour the unionisation of their workers,” argues Novac. “Japanese companies, for instance, are straightforward about it. Also, Auchan - a France-headquartered multinational supermarket chain - and the Schwartz group [German owner of retail brands Kaufland and Lidl] are anti-union employers.”

Cartel Alfa’s Secretary General said unions met ten times with the lenders in the ‘Troika’ loan implementation years and “explained to them what effects the legislation had: the [collective bargaining] contracts started to disappear, the [number of] minimum wages… was increasing rapidly.“

This is also against international labour laws. Needing 15 persons to form a union from the same company violates both EU laws and International Labour Organisation (ILO) conventions on the freedom of association. This law article is contested by unions and the case is being considered by Romania’s Constitutional Court. “We hope that this provision will be killed,” adds Stephan Meuser, from Friedrich Ebert Stiftung.

Photo: Hope that anti-union law will be seen to break constitution, Stephan Meuser, Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, by JOHNNY GREEN, July 2017, Bucharest, Romania

Romania: a “Guinea Pig” to reduce workers’ rights

But could this method of deregulation spread beyond Romania? Corporate lobbyists were using the 2008 financial crisis to propose changes to the country’s labour laws in a move to create a ‘test case’ for a nation of hollowed-out workers’ rights in the EU, argues new research.

"Representatives of both employers’ associations and unions consider that Romania was used as a ‘guinea pig’ by foreign investors with the support of the so-called Troika (IMF, EC, World Bank), to decentralize collective bargaining radically,” according to a 2016 European Journal of Industrial Relations study by Aurora Trif, a social scientist from Dublin University.

Trif quoted a union official anonymously in the document: “All the labour market reforms [in Romania] were initiated and adopted at the recommendation of two players; one is the American Chamber of Commerce and the other one is the Foreign Investors’ Council. The Romanian model has been exported to other central and east European countries and foreign investors wish to extend it in western European countries.”

The result of the 2011 laws favouring business to the detriment of Romania’s workforce has been “catastrophic” for society says Vasile Gogescu.

“Take two employees both earning the national minimum wage - if they start a family, and say they have a child, they cannot pay their bills by working, or even afford everyday basic goods,” he adds. “We’re slowly becoming the working poor.”

Additional reporting: Harald Schumann, Investigate Europe and Michael Bird

Investigate Europe is supported by Germany’s Hans-Böckler-Stiftung, Rudolf-Augstein-Stiftung and Stiftung Hübner&Kennedy, the Norwegian foundation Fritt Ord and the Open Society Initiative for Europe.

ORIGINAL PUBLICATION: THE BLACK SEA | Editor: Michael Bird - https://m.theblacksea.eu/stories/article/en/romania-worker-sell-out Photography: Johnny Green

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