#health jobs sydney

[kaijutegu]

Aug ABSOLUTELY deserves the praise, @ryukikit. St. Augustine Alligator Farm is one of my favorite animal facilities, hands down. It's a pretty zoo, doable in an afternoon if you kinda like crocodilians, or an all day affair if you REALLY like crocodilians. Here are my favorite things about it and why I think it's worth supporting.

1. They keep animals in interesting social groups.

Crocodilians are heavily involved parents, but most places that breed them don't have the enclosure space to let the babies stay with the parents. St. Augustine does. One of my favorite groups was their crèche of slender-snouted crocodiles. They had the parents and then a yearling cohort and a new hatchling cohort. This aligns with how these guys live in the wild- the babies stick around longer! They have the space for it, and they are very in tune with the social needs of their animals.

Very, very few zoos can keep their baby crocs with the adults and still perform maintenance and animal health checks safely. This doesn't mean these facilities are bad- it just means that they have different management practices. And frankly, a lot of these species aren't frequently bred elsewhere. Your average zoo doesn't need a setup where you can have a multiyear crèche for slender-snouted crocodiles. Some species have better success when the young are pulled early, and some zoos are better set up to raise out any offspring separately or behind the scenes. Every facility's practices are different, and this just happens to work well at St. Augustine and be really enjoyable to see as a zoo patron.

Crocodilians are exceptional parents and very protective. It's a sign of incredible animal management practices and animals that feel very comfortable with staff that St. Augustine can do this with nearly every species they breed.

2. They understand the social needs of their animals.

Some crocodilians are social. Some are solitary. Some can live happily with a member of the opposite sex but get territorial around members of the same sex. St. Augustine pays incredible attention to their social groupings to ensure that they aren't just meeting the animals' physical health needs but their social needs as well. They do continuous scientific research about social structures in crocodilians, taking blood samples to test stress hormones and observing stress behaviors to see how group dynamics change.

For example, St. Augustine is home to one of the world's largest known living saltwater crocodiles, Maximo. And his comparatively tiny mate, Sydney. During the educational presentations with these two, they point out that even their monster of a croc needs his social group- he won't eat if she's not around and he is calmer during medical checks if he can see her. These animal share a deep and special pair bond, and they make sure to talk about how the social aspect of these animals' lives is integral to their care. It's a unique aspect of the way they talk about these animals, because he IS a spectacle and he IS a sensation, but they don't talk about him like he's a mindless killing machine- they talk about him like he's a big, complex predator with social needs like any other animal. Aug is the only facility I've been to where the emotional and social needs of crocodilians is part of the education they provide guests- and speaking of education...

3. Their demos and presentations are extremely good.

The presentations at St. Augustine are some of the best I've ever seen, and I've seen literally hundreds of animal talks on everything from aardvarks to zebras. But as you... can probably tell from my blog content, I've spent a lot of time learning about and working with reptiles. I really enjoyed all of their presentations because they are very scientific about things and avoid sensationalism. They really want you to be fascinated by these creatures and love them- but more than anything else, they want you to respect them.

Also, they do a really good job handling their ambassadors. I really enjoyed something as simple as watching an educator tell us about snakes. Throughout the whole presentation she made sure that most of the snake's body was looped in her hand. The snake was always supported and was very calm. She gave the snake plenty of head room so that it didn't feel constricted- it was just good handling all around.

But also, the presentations made it clear how much the park cares about the animals' well-being. When they do the feeding and training presentations, they make it very clear that the animals' participation is entirely voluntary. They do things differently for their 9-foot saltie and their 16-foot saltie, because the 16-footer is so large and heavy he actually struggles walking on land sometimes. They adapt their programs and his care to ensure that he's completely comfortable- and he didn't actually participate in the whole feeding when I was watching! At no point did they try to push him into anything uncomfortable; they offered, he didn't engage, and they moved on. It was a clear expression of his boundaries, and I really appreciated how much his caretakers respected that.

4. Ethical Interactions

I've been to... a lot of tourist locations in Florida that have animals you can hold. Almost always against my will! Many of them are pretty terrible, and you don't actually learn much, if anything. But I really found that to not be the case at St. Augustine. Every single animal presentation and interaction opportunity was accompanied by education about the animal's biology, habits, and- crucially- their conservation status.

When I held a baby alligator at St. Augustine, the proctors- there were two, one to ensure I was holding the gator correctly and the other to educate- were very informative about the role alligators play in their ecosystem and their conservation history. The animals were all properly banded, and one of the two proctors was there to ensure that none of the baby alligators were uncomfortable. As soon as they started getting squirmy or tense, they were removed, unbanded, and taken to an off-exhibit area to relax. And when the babies age out of petting size, they just go in the lagoon to live with others of their species. I saw one upset alligator the entire time I was there, and he was clearly upset that his escape attempt was foiled by a keeper during my nursery tour.

Even though he's restrained in this shot, you can see that his full body and tail are supported, and the grip, while firm, is gentle. He's distressed, but after I took this picture, she put him in his enclosure and he calmed down immediately.

Sometimes when you have petting attractions with baby animals, those animals... don't have a happy ending. (See: cub petting.) But St. Augustine's program is fine- the gators are all aged out of wanting to have mom around, there's no declawing/defanging, and they're handled with care. And it's worth it, because people love what they understand. St. Augustine was integral in raising public awareness about alligators back in the 60s when they were endangered, and now they're thriving- largely in part to programs like St. Augustine getting people to care.

And speaking of getting people to care, let's talk about their research.

5. Shared Research Results

St. Augustine is also home to more species of crocodilian than anywhere else in North America- all of them, usually. (They didn't have a Tomistoma when I visited- that may have changed.)

Because of this species diversity, it's an incredible research resource. Having every species means that you can do a lot of work comparing their behaviors, their growth patterns, and more. They've been a major research site for crocodilian biology since the 1970s. Today, they're one of the key sites for studying crocodilian play and social behaviors. They actually maintain a blog where they post copies of papers that were written using their animals, meaning that you can actually see the results of the research your admission helps fund. You can see that right here: https://www.alligatorfarm.com/conservation-research/research-blog/

All of this adds up to a zoo that provides a unique experience, tons of actual education, and transparency about what its research and conservation steps actually are. St. Augustine's come a long way since its opening in 1893, and they really do want you to leave with a new respect for the animals they care for. Ultimately, if you're a fan of reptiles, you can feel good about visiting the St. Augustine Alligator Farm- their care and keeping are top of the line, they do a ton of innovative conservation research and support for conservation organizations, and you can see this animal there:

(Gharial from the front. Nothing is wrong with her that's just what they look like from the front.)

#long post #st. augustine alligator farm #alligator #crocodile #reptiblr

[katiexpunk]

Diner Girl | Pairing Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary:  You frequent your local dinner pretty often, not just because you love their pancakes with extra syrup, but because your best friend Sydney is a waitress there. You've heard her talk about her hot boss, Joel, every now and then but you've never had the pleasure of meeting him; that was until one morning, after getting unexpectedly laid off, you decided to drown your feels in syrup and love from your bestie. Joel offers you a job, and he shows you the ropes in more ways than one. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~7.3K Warnings: Pining, flirting, hard core tension, age gap (unspecified, reader is 30), 2000s style (needs a TW lol), 2000s texting, Joel is a little rough/bossy, Joel is actually readers boss, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), no creampie (a katiexpunk first, weird, I know), rough blow job, oral (m and female receiving) pet names, cum swallowing, praise kink, inappropriate use of syrup, one tit slap, Joel rips readers uniform off of her, readers former boss is an asshole, reader gets fired from her job, eating/references to food, did I already say flirting. Joel and reader fuck on a table in the diner. References to a health scares (for readers coworker). A bit of a dom/sub dynamic. Fluff. Porn with plot. Joel calls reader slut twice. Hilary Duff/A Cinderella Story gets mentioned, as does Jennifer Coolidge yelling for more salmon. Authors Note: The fact that I'm posting this doesn't feel real. This idea has been in my brain for so long, and I am happy and relieved to have it out in the world. Special thank you to @endlessthxxghts for holding my balls, brainstorming with me, and beta'ing this. And another thank you to @sydneyinacoma, my inspiration for readers bestie -- thank you for being my slutty, smutty, sister and for saving my ass with the first blowjob scene; I owe you one. ILY both. And to @hier--soir, Jessie, your beautiful way of storytelling inspires me and I often find myself HWJWTS (How Would Jessie Write This Smut). Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

November 2004 

The blaring sound of your alarm disrupts your slumber, and you jolt awake with a sense of urgency. Shit. You’re gonna be late. Again. 

You stumble through your routine. You splash cold water on your face in an attempt to remove the pillow marks left behind on your cheek and smear on a mixture of lotion and face oil the saleswoman swears will make you look like you’re in your 20s again. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that that was only a year ago. You can see why she would have thought you were older as you look at your reflection in the mirror and the dim light from your tiny 1950s bathroom illuminates the bags under your eyes. 

God, you’re tired. Truthfully, you’ve been tired for months now; no amount of caffeine can seem to make up for your lack of sleep due to the demands of finishing up your Master’s and your boss who keeps you late at work what seems like every night now. 

You hastily get dressed and attempt to gather your thoughts. As you step outside into the cool November morning air, you bristle at the wind cooling the still-damp hairs that frame your face. You unlock the door to your beater and slip the keys into the engine. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach when a soft click, click, click, click noise reverberates through the air; the stubborn engine refusing to turn over. 

Shit. Not again. No!

Frustration mounts with each futile attempt to bring the engine to life. You slam your palms against the cool leather of your steering wheel, a long sigh escapes your lungs and your forehead meets the top of the wheel in defeat. 

You reach into your purse for your phone and quickly compose a message to your boss, explaining the situation. "Car won't start. Trying to figure it out. Going to be late. Sorry." With a sigh, you hit send, hoping for a sympathetic response.

The minutes crawl by as you anxiously await a reply. The familiar chime of your phone signals a message, and you eagerly check it. However, the words that flash across the screen only deepen your frustration: "This is unacceptable. You’ve already been warned twice. Don’t bother coming in, and consider this your termination."

The shock of the message hits you like a ton of bricks. 

Sure, you had been late a few times in the past year, but you figured your staying late almost every night would make up for it. Maybe if he paid a little more you could afford to fix your piece of shit car and you wouldn’t be late in the first place. 

Your eyes sting with disbelief, and your hands tremble as you clutch the phone. Anger and desperation dance the waltz in your mind as you fight to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

You sit in your silent car, the quiet sounds of morning make you feel frozen in time, unsure of what to do or where to go from here.

You look back down at your phone again and type out a quick message to your best friend Sydney.

“U working this am?” before you can even put the phone down, it’s chirping to life with her response. 

“Hi babes! I am. R u?” her response reads. 

You don’t want to give her the full details over text – too much to type out – and instead, you settle on a short response. 

“No. Long story. Coming in 2 c u.”  

“Kk! C u soon <3” 

Your day was quite possibly off to the shittiest start ever, but you know there are three remedies to that situation. 

Your bestie, pancakes, and syrup. 

Lots and lots of fucking syrup. 

++++

The early morning sunlight spills through the diner's large windows, casting a warm glow on the worn checkered tiles. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee envelops the air, creating a comforting ambiance that feels like a hug. The clinking of cutlery against plates and the low hum of conversations provide a soothing soundtrack to the chaos of your morning. 

Your usual booth is taken, so you settle for a seat at the bar. The stool is a little wobbly, but you have a nice view of the bustling kitchen and the seats next to you are empty. 

You watch Sydney pour a coffee refill for the older couple at the end of the bar before heading over to you. As she approaches, her infectious smile illuminates the space. Her apron, adorned with a patchwork of food stains and coffee spills, hints at the countless meals she’s already served this morning. 

"Morning, sunshine! You’re here early, you miss me?” she greets, grabbing a mug from the counter behind her before placing it in front of you and pouring you a steaming cup of coffee. 

You let out a little chuckle at her remark, knowing you just saw her last night.

You grab the mug in front of you with both hands, wishing you could shrink yourself and jump into the hot liquid like a hot tub; your bones cold from your long walk to the diner. Stupid car.

"No really, what’s up? Everything okay?” she asks, a hint of concern behind her words. 

“Not really. My car wouldn’t start this morning again, and John fired me after I told him I was gonna be late,” you respond, feeling the warmth of your frustration beginning to build in your chest once more. 

“What an asshole,” Sydney responds, “I’m sorry that happened, babe. He’s a real piece of work, you’re better off without him,” she continues. 

“I guess so. But I need a job, Syd. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now,” you respond, defeated. Your cheeks begin to heat and you think you might actually cry this time. You move the menu out in front of you on the counter to the side, and Sydney picks it up and removes the pen from behind her ear. 

“I could talk to Joel,” she offers, scribbling your order down on her notepad. You don’t have to tell her, she already knows what this situation calls for – pancakes with a lot of fucking syrup. 

“Joel?” you ask, leaning over the counter and looking both ways before you whisper to her, “as in the hot boss you won’t shut up about, Joel?” 

She lets out a little chuckle and you see a little twinkle of bashfulness in her eyes. 

“Yes, my ridiculously hot, mostly unreadable, but hot, boss Joel,” she replies. “Martha quit last week, something about wanting to spend more time with her grandkids, so we’re down a waitress.” 

You look at her face, pondering her offer as if you really have another option at the moment. 

“He’s here this morning, he’s in the back doing paperwork – I can go grab him and have him talk to you if ya want,” she says, nodding to the woman who just sat down at the bar, giving her a soft be right there hun. 

“Plus, it’ll be so fun to work together!” she says, her voice more energetic this time, preparing to go back into customer service mode. 

“I – yeah, alright, yes, I’ll talk to him,” you agree. 

She does a little jump and says “YAY!” and then gives you a big smile before pouncing off to greet her next customer. Where does she find the energy? 

As you wait for your emotional pancakes to arrive, you cradle your mug, the warmth seeping into your chilled skin, while you gaze through the window into the kitchen. Amidst the orchestrated dance of chefs and waitstaff, there stands a figure that looks like he doesn’t belong in the greasy kitchen of a diner – a towering presence, broad and resolute. His flannel shirt clings to the sculpted contours of his muscles and the determined furrow of his brow accentuates the intensity he’s directing to the clipboard in his hand. 

That’s him. That’s gotta be the ridiculously hot boss. That’s gotta be Joel, right? You feel a little tickle in your belly at the thought. 

You try not to stare too much, not wanting to be obvious, but like passing a car wreck on the freeway, you can’t seem to look away. You smile at the way he bites the cap of the pen in his mouth, only dropping it on occasion to make little notes or checkmarks. As you look at him doing his work, his eyes flutter up and meet yours. And in that brief moment, you feel a connection. The corners of his lips curl into a friendly smile as he stares back at you briefly, before once again dropping his gaze to the papers in front of him. Sydney did say he was unreadable; now you see why. 

Before you can process further, Sydney returns with your stack of pancakes and places them in front of you. “Thanks, can I have some syr–,” but before you can continue, she’s placing the container of the sweet liquid in front of you with a wink.

As you dive into your comfort food, savoring each bite, the door to the kitchen swings open, and Joel emerges. Tall and confident, he approaches your seat, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Of course, he would come to talk to you now, right as you have a giant bite of pancake shoved into your mouth like an animal. The cherry on top of your already shit day.

"Sydney's been raving about you," he admits, a friendly smirk on his face. "Say’s you’re lookin’ for some work,” his voice is low and even, and his eyes briefly scan over the patrons before coming back to land on your face. For as hot as Sydney has been describing him as over the past few months, she forgot to mention how fucking sexy he sounds. 

You stare back at him, gulping down the remaining pancake in your mouth. 

Joel's eyes are trained on your face. What he really wanted to say was Sydney’s been raving about you, but she didn’t tell me how pretty you are. That was all the more apparent to him now that he sees you up close. 

“We’re down a waitress, and we could use someone with your taste in breakfast and impeccable timing, if you’re interested?” he says, watching you fidget with the napkin in your lap. 

“I – yes, yes I am very interested. I’ve never been a waitress, but I have great attention to detail and I’m sure I could pick it up quickly with the right guidance,” you say, straightening your posture, attempting to look more composed than he has you feeling right now. 

“Well great, we’ll have you trained up in no time,” he says, his gaze lingers on your features for a beat longer than expected before he swivels on his heels, heading back to the kitchen. However, after a few steps, he abruptly pauses, pivoting back around with a thoughtful expression, as if there’s more he wants to share.  

“Oops, my bad, sweetheart. Almost forgot my manners. I’m Joel, by the way. This is my diner,” he says, gesturing with one hand as if to show the space to you like you were seeing it for the first time, before offering his large hand toward you. You meet it with your own, giving him a firm shake while sharing your name. 

"Can you start tomorrow?" he asks, and you respond with a satisfied "mhmm," sealing the deal with a wink from Joel. "Great – be here around seven in the morning then, and we’ll get cha all trained up" he adds with a grin, one that teeters the line between professional and flirtatious. 

And just like that, in the midst of your syrup-drenched, emotionally charged morning you let out your first real smile of the day. 

So there were four remedies to your situation. 

Your bestie, pancakes, syrup, and Joel. 

You finish your remaining pancake, letting your mind wander off, secretly hoping Joel will be showing you the ropes in more ways than one.  

++++

The next morning, you get to the diner just as the sun is starting to rise, and you can't help but draw a parallel to Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story, except now you’re the Diner Girl. 

While you may not be gliding around on gaudy rollerskates, and Jennifer Coolidge isn't screaming at you “MORE SALMON! We need more Salmon!” there's an undeniable charm to the whole scenario that makes you chuckle. The uniform Sydney handed you on your way out may not be the stuff of fairytale gowns, but the fabric that clings to your skin is a tangible reminder that you're stepping into a different narrative today, a narrative where you’re employed and your boss isn’t a total jerk. 

As you step into the diner, the familiar calms your nerves a bit. Joel, seemingly in tune with your arrival, glances up from behind the counter and shoots you a playful wink. Does he wink at all his employees? 

"Morning, sunshine! Ready for your grand debut?" he teases, flashing a bright smile coupled with an adorable set of dimples. You manage a shy smile in response, feeling nervous once again, but it has nothing to do with learning your new job and all to do with the beautiful man in front of you that you’ll be close to the entire day. 

Joel wastes no time guiding you through the diner's rhythm. With each task, he effortlessly blends instructions with charming banter, making the learning process feel less like work and more like a shared secret between the two of you.

"Here's where the magic happens," he says, gesturing to the row of gleaming coffee machines. "And trust me, making a perfect cup is an art; takes a lot of love."

“Aren’t these like super-fast automatic coffee brewers? You just load the beans and water and hit start?” 

"Alright, smartass," he retorts, a playful glint in his eyes, "Yeah, they are, but you gotta press that button with love, baby. That's what makes it good." 

Your laughter harmonizes with his, and you catch the infectious mirth in his expression – one hand on his hip, the other casually resting on the counter. Your eyes trace the veins on his forearms, distinctly visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves, and you can't help but admire the effortless confidence he exudes. 

“Do it with love. I understand,” you respond. 

“Good girl,” he responds. “Alright, next up – silverware rollin’, ya ready?” he asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, a playful smile dancing on your lips, as you follow him to the back of the kitchen to grab a tray of freshly washed flatware. Returning to the dining room, he leads you to an empty booth tucked away from the prying eyes of coworkers, giving you the first taste of true solitude with him all morning.

"Now, watch and learn," he says, demonstrating a silverware roll that rivals any seasoned server. "The key is in the wrist action. It's all about finesse."

You mimic his movements, chuckling when your first attempt doesn't quite match his polished technique. He leans in a little closer, his warmth and encouragement almost palpable.

"See, you've got the basics down. But let me show you a little trick," he says, guiding your hand with his own. The close proximity sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you can't help but revel in the extra attention to detail in his guidance. As he imparts his expertise, the thought of him taking charge and instructing you in other ways goes straight to your core. 

“You’re a natural,” Joel says, responding to your growing stack of rolled silverware. 

"You like taking orders?" he inquires, his gaze intense as he places the second-to-last rolled set in the pile you both created, and you complete your own. The implication behind his words hits you, and your eyes widen with surprise.

"Do I what?" you ask, a hint of uncertainty in your voice, unsure if your mind has ventured too far into the realm of innuendo to fully grasp his meaning.

"Taking orders – you seem like you'd be good at it," he says, pausing deliberately, well aware that he's causing a stir within you.

"You know, from customers?" he adds with a smirk, putting you out of your misery. 

“Oh. Oh – uh, well, I’m not sure, I’ve never tried it,” you respond. 

“First time for everything, darlin’. We can practice. I’ll be the customer, and you can take my order.” 

He flashes you a charming smile, making it hard to resist. "Alright," you agree with a shy grin, readying your notepad. You start “Good morning, Sir! Can I get you starte–” 

"Now, sweetheart, we've gotta do this right – stand up now, take my order properly," he interrupts, a playful tone in his voice. You shoot him a teasing side-eye, and he smirks, attempting to hide it by bringing his hand to his beard.

You rise and straighten your apron, and turn to face him at the table. 

“Good morning, Sir –” you begin again, “what can I get started for you?” 

"I'll have the classic bacon and eggs, toast on the side, and a steaming cup of your finest brew. Oh, and a side of your million-dollar smile, please."

You laugh at the last part, realizing this is exactly the kind of practice you need. "Got it, one bacon and eggs, toast, coffee, and a million-dollar smile," you repeat, jotting it down.

Joel nods approvingly. "You're a quick learner. Now, let's spice it up a bit. What if I want my eggs sunny-side-up, the toast lightly buttered, and the coffee extra strong?"

You take a moment to absorb the details, determined not to miss anything. "Sunny-side-up eggs, lightly buttered toast, and extra strong coffee," you recite confidently.

Joel grins. "Not bad, darlin’ – you’re a good listener.” 

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you playfully retort. 

You don’t see it, but Joel palms himself beneath the denim of his jeans, attempting to adjust from the growing lack of space in them. 

As the morning rolls into the afternoon, you finish out the rest of your shift at the diner and make the walk back home.

As you lay in bed, you try to rationalize all of your flirting with Joel. 

He’s just nice. A Southern gentleman. He’s probably like this with all of his employees.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel lies in his own bed, also attempting to rationalize all of his flirting with you. He knows it’s wrong, but that doesn’t stop him from taking his heavy cock in hand to the thought of you that night. 

++++

After nearly a month of seamlessly navigating the diner routine, you've become a fixture in the cozy ambiance. The playful banter between you and Joel has escalated to shameless flirting – a subtle touch from a passed laminated menu, an intentionally clumsy moment with the cash register as an excuse to get a little closer, and the unmistakable sensation of his gaze lingering on you as you lean over to wipe down the booths. 

You even find yourself yelling out “Corner!” less than you should, hoping it might lead you to accidentally bump into him. 

It's not exactly backbreaking labor, though it can take a toll on you physically. But you find yourself enjoying it—the thrill of pushing through a lengthy shift, the rush that accompanies swift movements and juggling various tasks during the bustling hours, the familiar faces of regulars who now greet you by name, and the bonus of spending extra time with Sydney. 

For now, it's fulfilling enough. However, the more moments you share with Joel, the more it dawns on you that, at least when it comes to him, "enough" might never quite be sufficient.

++++

You normally work M-F, during the morning shift, and you’re grateful for the extra time on the weekends. You’re starting to feel like you might not actually need that facial oil now that you’re getting adequate rest. Take that, Mary Kay. 

One Saturday night, as you’re sitting on your couch watching Kill Bill, your phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number, and curiosity pulls you in. Joel’s husky voice on the line tells you who it is, but he introduces himself anyway.

“Hey, darlin’ – it’s Joel. Listen, uh, I know it’s your day off but I was wondering if you might be able to come in to work tonight?” he asks. 

Without pausing to let you respond, he lays it on thick, making a persuasive attempt to nudge you into saying yes, "The other servers are all tied up, and Suzanne had to call out, something about Mike not feeling right tonight, tight chest and all, so I told her to make sure he gets checked out."

"Oh no, that's awful. Yes, yes, of course, Joel. I'll be there in 15," you reply, hearing a sigh of relief on the other end.

"See you soon," he says.

"Oh? You're coming in, too?" you ask, trying not to sound overly excited.

"Well, someone's gotta make the food, right?" A little chuckle carries through the phone.

You remember it now; he had shared with you during that first day that working in the kitchen at night was one of the reasons he decided to take over owning the diner, his decision in part was fueled by his love of cooking. “Helps me remember why I started doing this in the first place," he had said. You were listening, but you were also distracted by him fidgeting with his coffee cup, watching him make small circles around the rim of it. 

++++

As the night descends, the diner transforms. The hustle of the day gives way to an intimate, dimly lit ambiance. Joel, donned in his chef's coat, greets you with a sly grin, "Well, look who's gracing the night shift. It's just you and me tonight, darlin'."

"Think we can handle it?" you respond, not really talking about the dinner rush, and he knows it. 

The air crackles with sexual tension as you and Joel maneuver through the shift. The need between you two is palpable; a desire only one thing could satiate, a hunger no amount of breakfast food could resolve.

The hours tick by, and the tile inside is illuminated by the soft glow of the neon sign outside. With the last order served, you both lean against the counter, a comfortable silence enveloping you. 

Joel breaks it with a casual remark, "Hungry?" 

"Starving,” you respond a playful edge to your voice, biting your lip. Joel’s eyes go dark as he stares at your plump flesh. 

You are hungry, but not for food.

++++

 Joel guides you to the prep station for a crash course on chicken and waffles. 

“Now, I know you’re a pancake kinda girl, but trust me darlin’ when I say these chicken and waffles will make you fall in love,” he says. Yeah, they just might. 

Joel, sleeves rolled up and a chef's jacket in hand, hands it over with a grin that hints at more than just a cooking lesson. The oversized jacket drapes over you as he gives a quick once-over. He chuckles, “you look cute like this, sweetheart,” he says before he heads to the fridge for supplies.

Returning with a bunch of ingredients, he starts showing you the ropes of making waffle batter. "You like to cook?” he asks, pouring flour into a bowl. His hands move with ease, adding baking powder, a pinch of salt, and a dash of sugar. You crack the eggs into the mix, and he throws in some vanilla extract, giving the batter a fragrant twist.

“I mean, I don’t not like to cook, but I can’t say I’m very good at it. I think I’m better with instruction,” you answer. You notice his gaze deepen, going darker almost, as he hands you a whisk. “Mix it up then. Give it your all,” he says, and you start blending. 

As you stir the batter, you sense Joel subtly adjusting his position until he's right behind you. He towers over you from behind. His arms gently encircle your body, and his backside hovers just an inch away from yours. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "The secret," he murmurs in a low, almost whispered tone near your ear, "is to whisk it just enough, not too much. The air bubbles make it fluffy." His voice carries a blend of guidance and desire. 

His hand moves up to sweep your hair away from your neck, causing your mixing to slow as his fingertips graze the sensitive skin. Goosebumps erupt across your entire body, and he presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear. 

“Joel,” you whimper, tilting your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck. 

“Keep mixin’ darlin,” he commands. You try, but the distraction of him on you makes you forget the simple action altogether. 

You close the gap between your bodies and take a small step back so your backside is firmly pressed against him. You let out a gasp as you feel the thick shape of him on your ass. He continues to nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin there. You grab the counter in a poor attempt to steady yourself, and press into him harder, and he responds pinning your hips to the counter until his growing cock is all the more noticeable. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he lets out a little hiss. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this – haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” A soft moan escapes you, and in the blink of an eye, his hands find your hips. Before you can react, he swiftly turns you around to face him.

“You like being told what to do, baby? I’ll tell you what to do, but I’m not gonna tell you twice,” Joel says as his large palm comes up to hold the column of your throat, his thumb just under your jaw, tilting you up to face him. 

“So if I tell you to get on your knees, you’re gonna do it,” he says, voice low. “If I tell you to look at me, you’re gonna do it,” he continues, “and if I tell you to swallow, you’re gonna do it like the perfect little slut I know you are,” he says, dipping his face lower to you. You wonder if he can feel your pulse quickening under his hand, caught in a lusty daze fueled by hot breath and the sight of his blown pupils. 

“Tell me you understand,” he commands, not really questioning. 

“Yes - yeah, I understand,” you say, tightening your grip on his forearm, feeling the strength of his muscles still grasping you, pulling you closer to him. 

You think for a moment he might kiss you, his lips barely an inch from yours, but he doesn’t. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “since I know you’re so good at practicing, let’s do it again,” he suggests, releasing his grip on you. 

“Get on your fucking knees, baby.” 

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, cold tile against your bare calves. You position yourself beneath him and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for him to give you further instructions. He reaches down and brings his pointer finger down to lift your chin up to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips. 

“So pretty like this, baby.” He thinks you're pretty. 

As he releases you, you take that as permission and reach out to undo the buckle of his belt. You fumble with the cool metal momentarily, until it’s completely unbuckled before you begin to work with the zipper on his pants. You tug both his pants and his underwear down just below his hips, and his thick length springs to attention. 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the size of him. He’s big. His cock is already at full attention, red and weeping. Your mouth waters at the sight of it.  You look up at him, silently asking for permission to touch him, and he nods. “All yours’” he says, and your hand comes to wrap around the base of him. The thought of all of him being yours stirs something low in your belly. 

Before you can put him in your mouth, he grabs your wrist to pull you back up to your feet. 

“Too many clothes, sweetheart. Need to see those fuckin’ tits,” he growls, tearing your uniform off, almost bare save for your bra. You’re gonna need a new one. His eyes are glued to your chest, admiring the red bra you’ve been hiding under your uniform.

“As much as I like the way this looks on, I’d like it a helluva lot better off,” he says while hastily unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the kitchen floor. Your nipples harden in the cool air, entrancing Joel. “Gorgeous fuckin’ tits,” swatting your left one, in awe of the way it bounced on impact. 

“Back on your knees,” ordering you once again. You obey without hesitation, almost automatically. 

You stroke along his length, feeling the silky warmth of his skin, the heat, and the thick veins that add texture to each pass of your palm. You pause at the top of him and let out a little squeeze, until a small bead of precum forms at the tip. You lap it up, and Joel lets out a groan and his hands fall to grab the back of your neck. 

“Keep that mouth wide open for me, baby.” I’ll do anything you want as long as you call me baby, you reply in your head. 

You part your lips and tease your tongue around and then start sucking on the tip, slowly taking more in until you’re sucking on the full head of his cock and your tongue is whirling around it. Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, and he gently cants his hips forward, urging you to take more of him.

You’re barely halfway down and the back of his cock is already on your throat. You start bobbing your head up and down, and Joel mutters a little curse under his breath and bites down on his lip. 

“Such a good girl f’me, takin’ this cock down your sweet little throat,” you moan around him, the sound reverberating against him, “yeah, this what you wanted, hmm? Needed your throat fucked like a slut?” 

Your thighs clench together, a syrupy mess of your own slick smears on your skin, and his filthy words add to the roaring ache in your cunt. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel as you notice him stiffen just a little more. How is that even possible?

You pick up your pace, pushing yourself to take more of him. He thrusts shallow but firmly, meeting your movements along his shaft. 

“Tha’s it baby, just like that…” his groans are lecherous, coupled with the profane sounds of you gagging on his cock. You’d listen to that on a loop if you could. 

He tightens his grip on your hair and pulls you off him. There will be plenty of opportunities for him to fill your mouth up, but right now, he has other priorities. He does take an extra moment to watch you wipe the saliva and precum from your mouth with the back of your hand. It’s a vulgar sight and he commits it to memory. 

He helps you to your feet, and your knees on fire from the harshness of the floor. You’ll pay for it later, but for now, the soreness is a small price to pay for the exhilaration you’re experiencing with your super hot, hung boss. 

Without warning, he scoops you up in his brawny arms and carries you off to the closest booth adjacent to the kitchen. With your back flat on the table, you feel the cool laminate tabletop on your skin and it adds a stark contrast to the warmth of Joel’s chest pressed against yours moments ago. 

Your upper back is on the small table, leaving just enough room for your hips to slightly dangle off the edge, Joel’s hips between your legs. Your head ghosts the condiment bottles at the edge and he holds you in place there, teasing you. 

He pauses to admire the way you look up at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your perky tits slightly falling to the side, a little sheen of sweat on your chest. He pauses to admire the way you still look flustered, but composed, knowing he’s going to fuck every ounce of that right out of you. 

Joel wants to untangle you like a knotted ball of yarn, he wants to claim ownership of every inch of your body, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

He drops to his own knees this time, hooking his thumbs into your underwear to pull them down with him.. His face immediately finds your cunt, and he wastes no time before he lays a trail of soft kisses over your wet and waiting folds. He starts slow, a kiss here, a lap there, and eventually begins to pick up his pace. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your hips cant up at the welcomed intrusion and your back arches, unable to stay on the table. You feel his hot breath on your cunt, and let out a small mmm at the way he presses his forearm across your lower half to lower you back down to the table, to keep you still. 

His mouth returns to your clit to work you, and he adds another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close – your slow crawl to the cliff of your orgasm turns into a full-on sprint.

You’re so close, and he can tell by the way your body tenses under him. 

“Please,” you moan. “Please – ugh, neeeeed to come, please let me come,” you beg. 

“Just a little longer, baby. You can come when I say you can.” Joel says, voice slightly muffed against your wet skin.

He presses his lips against your clit, but doesn’t give you enough tongue to get you where you need to go. You’re already so swollen, sensitive – you know all you’ll need is a little suck and you’ll be gone. 

You don’t know how much longer you can stave off your pleasure, but you want to be good for him, to listen, to obey. 

He knows you want to come, that’s obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and he grazes it with the top of his tongue and closes around you. You flutter your eyes closed. You warn him that you’re close, “Joel, fuck, please let me come. Please, please, please,” you rasp out your pleas with a symphony of moans. 

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, drinking in the way he has you melting, the way he has you begging. 

“You can come, baby. Go ahead, want you to soak my face,” he says, voice hoarse but still smooth like velvet.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like a warm summer breeze on a hot day. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses with pleasure as he works you through it. 

“Fuck, so pretty with you come f’me, baby. Being such a good girl, listening to my every command,” he says and lifts his head. His dilated pupils tell you he’s high on it; on you. 

Your slick shines on his beard, illuminated by the atmospheric glow of the streetlights peering into the dark diner. He looks at you, breath slightly ragged, and brings his fingers to his lips to smear the remaining slick from his face onto them, and he pops his finger in his mouth like he’s savoring the last bite of the best meal he’s ever had.

“Taste so fuckin’ delicious, baby. Must be from all that syrup you eat.” 

And shit, it’s filthy. He looks indecent in the most delectable of ways. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, grabbing his thick cock in hand and lining the head of it up against your wet and waiting hole, pausing there before pressing in. You let out a little whine. 

‘Shh, baby,” he coos, “‘m gonna give you what you need, don’t worry,” he says. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, even with the size of him. Your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it’s your fucking job, like it was made for him. 

He pauses for a moment to give you a second to adjust; you feel so full, you swear you feel him in your lungs. 

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a wet and wanton song made as a result of your wetness keys you up. 

“Fuck, yes, Joel – YES,” you cry. 

“Yeah? Say thank you to me, baby. Say thank you for giving you this cock, for fucking you dumb,” he commands. 

Thank you – thrust – tha - thrust – thank you, fuck, thrust. 

He fucks into you so hard that your head hits the condiments, knocking them over. The ketchup bottle falls, the sugar packets scatter, and the syrup tips over. A slight ooze of the viscous substance starts to pool on the table and get into your hair, but you don’t care, this feels too good to care. 

Just as you’re about to come, Joel notices the pool of auburn liquid running over the table and onto the red booth below. 

“Tsk, tsk, baby – makin’ a mess – creaming on my cock, and spilling syrup on the floor,” he says, continuing his pace. You feel your walls clench around him. Just as quickly as he entered, he retreats, and you whine at the loss. “Get up,” he says. 

You do as he says and rise onto your legs. They’re shakey like Jell-O. You watch as he reaches over the table and grabs the sticky glass bottle from the table. 

“On your knees again,” he asks of you for the third time tonight. You pause, your body sore and your knees aching. “You hear me, baby? I said get on your knees.” 

You do as he says, and kneel before him, once again worshiping at the altar of the man above you. 

You look up at him with bated breath and watch him use his free hand to rip off his shirt and throw it onto the booth beside him. 

“Come closer,” he says, “and open,” you kneel before him with your mouth open, your inviting tongue waiting to be used. He uses his hand to grab the base of his heavy cock, and he taps it on your widespread tongue a few times before holding the syrup bottle high in the air, centering it above his cock and your open mouth. 

You watch with wide eyes as he tips the bottle over just a smidge, and a long, thin, sticky stream of syrup begins to rain down onto his hardness, falling off the sides of it, down to the floor, and all over your chin. 

“Clean me up, baby,” he says, and your lips close around him. You begin to suck and lick every inch of him, savoring the golden liquid that creates a tantalizing mix of sweetness from the sugar and salt from his pre-cum. You hum as you work him, savoring every bit, and eventually, the skin on his cock is syrup free and you take him at a more consistent pace. You hear Joel groan, and it encourages you to take him deeper, harder, faster. 

You look up at him through wet lashes, tears forming in the corners of them, as he holds your now sticky hair into a makeshift ponytail and uses your mouth. 

“Such a good hole for me,” he says, “so fucking good, baby, you’re so perfect.” 

You let him chase his high, and open wider when you see his jaw tighten and his tight core tense, the grip on your hair pulling tighter. 

“You’re gonna swallow,” he says. “All of it,” he commands, and his jaw goes slack and he releases a rush of warm cum down your throat. It tastes musky, but a little drop of syrup you missed during your cleaning job makes it sweeter. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he says, panting heavily, holding you on his cock as he throbs out the final pumps of his release. 

He lets go of your hair and you pop off of him and use your fingers to clean off the rest of the syrup from your chin and smile up at him. God, you must look like a wreck. 

He extends out his large palm in a gesture to help you off the floor. As you rise to stand, his fingers find the underside of your jaw and he tilts you up to look at him. 

He looks at you, the darkness behind his eyes has been replaced with someone else; pride. 

“You really are a good listener, baby.” He says.  He gazes down at you, his thumb delicately tracing the contour of your jaw. This moment feels significant.

Leaning in, he tenderly places his lips on yours. The sensation takes your breath away, and as he intensifies the kiss, you willingly welcome the exploration of his tongue, relishing the warmth and savoring his taste. Tonight, you've experienced every other aspect of him, but in this moment time seems to stretch as your lips remain locked.

As he breaks the kiss, a contented smile graces your face, and you feel as if you could float away.

“Now really, let’s eat some food,” he says, letting a low chuckle escape from his lips, “I still owe you some chicken and waffles.” 

“And you owe me a new uniform,” you say, grabbing his hand to follow him to the kitchen, totally naked. 

Joel actually teaches you how to make the meal this time. He offers you another chef's coat to cover your body, but he doesn’t let you keep it on for long. As your breakfast-dinner cooks, he hoists you up on the counter and eats you again. He makes you orgasm more times in one night than you think you ever have with any of your previous partners. 

You were right in your initial thinking. Enough will never be enough when it comes to Joel.

You’ll always want more.

More of this, and more of him. 

And the one thing that’s the most certain is that you’ll most definitely want more fucking syrup. 

Good thing you work at a diner.

END

Bonus Drabble Coming Soon: How will Sydney react when you tell her about your steamy night with Joel?

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @nosesitter @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @lovebandrry @dugiioh @frodo-jojo @ghostwritesthings @planet-marz1 @josephquinnswhore @cinnamon-gurlll @dragonfire @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #syrup #early 2000s #pedro pascal

[squid-seraph]

What's Sydney's story, and how'd she end up with so many kidneys?

(rubbing my hands evilly...)

Sydney is an octoling from the domes who moved to the splatlands!

She was supposed to join the military along with her sister after finishing up with school, but dropped out of basic training pretty early on due to health issues.

Sydney wasn't interested in any of the other job positions offered to her either, which her mom hated. They argued a lot; Sydney wanted to take her time to figure things out, and her mother seemed to always be in a rush to get her to do something with herself. Work. contribute. This was a very prominent mindset to have for dome octarians, if you weren't working then you weren't being helpful. When Sydney met her partner, Rihya, (affectionately nicknamed Riot by her fellow elites) she basically cut contact with her mother and their relationship has been rocky ever since. But who cares here look at the lesbians

Now I'm going to crush you.

Riot is never seen with Sydney or the kids in current art because she went missing for about 2 and a half years. Search parties were sent in the metro, looking for missing octolings, but it was too late in most cases. All santitized octolings are prohibited from returning to their housing units or moving to the surface until a cure can be found and they are deemed ready to re-enter society. For the first time in years Sydney got to see her partner again, only to be told she's basically a zombie and will probably never return to normal.

 She moved to the splatlands pretty soon after that, home just didn't feel like home anymore. With splatsville becoming pretty popular, a lot of inkfish were looking to move there, and Sydney was hired by a family friend of some housing company and has been working for them as of now.

And to answer the second question.. Completely by chance. Octolings from the domes tend to not have as many as they would on the surface, most of the time just  one or maybe two eggs that are actually going to hatch. Sydney and Riot just got lucky. Or unlucky, depending on who you ask.

#ask #splatoon ocs #seraphim doodles #xeno inkfish #xeno octoling #literally goals until i ruined im sorry #sydney(oc) #sorry i took so long to answer this ive been busy #this is why i have only like one sanitized oc bc the lore is gonna be SAD no matter what

[morgana-ren]

Leighton, who knows your face but not your name once school is in session. He's never met you before, but you catch his attention in the hallway. You're laughing and giggling with friends, school folder squeezed to your chest and a sweet smile on your face. You walk right past him without a glance, too engrossed in your conversation to notice his leering.

Pretty thing, he thinks, wondering if he has any photos of you.

Surely not. He'd remember someone like you.

Leighton, who sends Sirris out to the cafe as he conducts his 'inspections.' Camera in hand, he lines the girls up and tells them to unbutton their shirts and flash their breasts— for health reasons, of course. He takes his photos as each girl strips and shifts uncomfortably before sending them back to their seats. His grin widens when he realizes you're at the end of the line.

Finally, he thinks.

You lower your blouse over your shoulders and ball your hands on either side of your torso, trying to hide the view from anyone but him, hard swallowing and trying not to meet his eyes. He stares for a moment before finally snapping a few photos, catching your quivering lip in the shot.

"Nice pair,' he says, licking his lips and imagining what it would feel like to jiggle the fat in his palms. You flush, shrinking back as he reaches forward and indulges, running a calloused thumb over the hardening peak. A quick squeeze and he realizes he's out of time.

She'll give me an excuse one day, he thinks, palming his hard cock beneath his desk. All students do at some point or another. You'll end up in his office. He's sure of it.

Leighton, who grows tired of waiting. You're a good girl, it seems. Well liked and behaved. A teacher favorite. So he takes things into his own hands.

He bribes two delinquents to frame you. He doesn't care how.

Just ensure she is sent to me, he tells them. They oblige gleefully. Thank God for this horrible town and the rotten fruit it bears.

Leighton, who is particularly careless with his car the next day. He drives through puddles and parks under trees; he doesn't take the tunnel to work, letting the rain wash over the paint job. Filthy, filthy, filthy.

It won't stay like this for long, he thinks.

You sit in his office after school, squirming and fingering anxiously at your skirt. You've never been here before. You're a good girl.

"I have something special for you today."

He takes you to the private lot, pointing to the sponge and bucket of soapy water sitting beside his car. You look at him and then the bucket incredulously. Surely he doesn't want—

"You'll want to take off your clothes for this," He grins, with far too many teeth. "No sense in getting your little uniform dirty."

You do as you're told. You strip down to your panties and get nice and wet and soapy cleaning his car. He watches attentively— very attentively, legs crossed to hide the throbbing length straining against his slacks.

"You missed a spot," he points, leaning in for a better view as you bend and buff out some dirt on his bumper. Your wet underwear clings to your ass, starting to ride up, and you don't dare pinch at it—

If only he had more time, he thinks.

Leighton, who raises a hand to Sydney in the Library. You rush to his aid, demanding an explanation.

"Supplies have gone missing under their watch," he tells you. "And they are responsible."

You claim equal responsibility, noble little thing that you are.

"Punish me too."

You don't have to tell him twice. Normally he'd have you both over the counter, but he can't pass up the opportunity. He empties the library, and tells Sydney to lock the door behind him. He won't hear any protestation from the little brat. None of it.

"I'm doing as she asked. Now get out."

You cling to the desk as he bends you over and flips your schoolgirl skirt, biting your lip to hide your shame. He takes a good, long look, committing it to memory before slapping the curve of your ass with his hand.

God, what he wouldn't give to—

Oh, wait. He's the headmaster. He can do as he pleases.

Your knees buckle as he crooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and gives them a firm tug down.

"This is a severe infraction, and thus begets a severe punishment. One you won't soon forget."

And one he won't either.

You yelp as he repeatedly cocks his hand back and slaps your bare bottom without mercy, your eyelashes wet and dewy as little silvery tears trail down your cheeks. Your cries border on obscene, and if he tries, he can imagine you're moaning for him like the naughty little thing he knows you are inside.

Your skin turns the most delicious shade, abuse leaving you already turning a cosmic shade of colors from the bruising. He almost pants harder than you do, hardly even needing to touch you to feel his peak approaching. He's horrified, but he can't stop. He's gone far past the 'deserved' punishment but the way you mewl and whimper has his mind obscured with hazy pink lust.

"H-headmaster!"

"Please let me go!"

"I'll be a good girl, I promise!"

He has to stop. He has to. If he doesn't, he's going to make a mess of his trousers.

A mess that should be on your teary little face and jiggling tits and all over your pretty cunt and deep in your bruising ass

With a final blow, he releases your arms, trying to catch his breath. You stay bent and sobbing long enough for him to catch a quick photo on his cell.

(Never the cell phone. Never ever the cell phone. Too traceable, too damning— but he can't bear to forget the sight in every marvelous detail. Before the shape of his hand disappears from your creamy skin and his handiwork heals over.)

Leighton, who leans over you as you sob, large hand grabbing a rough handful of your ass, snarling in your ear.

"You're a naughty little brat, and I'll be seeing you again soon. Mark my words."

He knows you feel his eagerness as he presses against you; there's no way you can't feel the hot, hard length practically ready to pop behind his zipper. His face is as red as your behind and he can tell if he doesn't pull away now, he'll have you here and now. He wouldn't be able to stop himself— couldn't control it.

Leighton, who turns without another word, leaving you heaving and weeping against the counter, bottom bared and practically bleeding.

Leighton, who beelines to his office, locking himself inside before making the mess he so longs to all over the printed pictures he has of your exposed tits and pouting lips.

It's not the same.

It's not the fucking same.

Leighton, who decides in that moment that he can't live if he can't defile you himself. He wants to feel those tight, wet walls constrict around his cock, velvety and hot. He wants to spread your legs and work you over until you're a panting, moaning mess, begging him to stop—

To keep going.

Leighton, the educator, who would be remiss in his position if he didn't teach you all about sexuality. About the dirty things humans do in the dark. About what a mouth is truly capable of and that your ass is used for more than just discipline.

Leighton, the headmaster, who announces to the school the very next day that he'll be rewarding all of his best students with private positions in his office for extra credit.

Leighton, your headmaster, who makes it mandatory.

#degrees of lewdity #leighton the headteacher #leighton the headmaster #Leighton dol #yeah this isnt the actual piece i was working on but its something small #enjoy the depraved filth #utterly gross right #why oh why do i love older men who abuse authority and clearly have a temper problem

[chansoooo1-blog]

I really hope the writers explore Sydney’s anxiety disorder in the next season. The lack of realistic female mental health representation in the media is actually astounding. I was thinking about how, as a female, I was more likely to identify with male characters rather than female ones when it came to the portrayal of mental health issues. Characters like Carmy, Kendall Roy... so much time and effort has been put into developing these characters, making their stories believable and realistic, allowing us to empathize with them.

However, when it comes to female characters, the reasons attributed to their mental health struggles often seem one-noted and unrealistic. Like the writers really don't give a shit?? For a man, it's like, 'yeah, he's just a complex guy going through it,' but for women, the mental illness somehow defines or consumes their entire personality, reducing them to a one-dimensional figure.

Ayo has done an excellent job planting the seeds that Sydney is dealing with an anxiety disorder. From her body language to the delivery of her lines, everything feels so realistic so far?! And they haven't "reduced " her to a woman dealing with a mental health disorder. So I sincerely hope that they continue to develop it and maybe make it one of the main storylines in the next season?

#the bear #sydney adamu #ayo edebiri #ch1

[moments-on-film]

Moments on Film: Carmy and Inappropriate Affect

Among Carmen’s many physical and psychological issues due to his undiagnosed PTSD from various sources and depression, he also displays inappropriate affect, a psychological term which I will describe below. Carmy has exhibited behavior that suggests inappropriate affect from the first episode in season 1, to the last episode in season 2.

The first time I noticed this, it was in the scene where Richie comes to Carmy’s aid in 1x1. Richie comes outside and essentially rescues Carmy from being beaten up by the Ballbreaker players waiting to come inside for the tournament. Richie is funny in the scene—to us as audience members—but it’s not intentional and Richie is actually very serious and pissed, exhibited by the fact that he lays into Carmy in the next scene. Yet in the scene outside, Carmy smiles and is about to laugh. Why? Perhaps he finds Richie funny, or the situation ridiculous, but from what we have seen of his personality profile so far, Carmy is a very serious person so this behavior feels very sudden and odd. Richie literally just shot off a gun. It is not an appropriate response to the situation.

According to Better Health, inappropriate affect is defined as:

“a condition where one's emotional actions or displays do not logically relate to a situation or stimuli. Common examples of inappropriate affect include smiling at the news of a tragedy or remaining unemotional during a very emotional situation.

When mental health professionals are looking for insight into what may be causing one to manifest inappropriate affect, they’ll often look for past trauma or other psychological concerns. Inappropriate affect is usually a sign of a deeper psychological or physical health concerns such as PTSD, depression, or some form of brain damage.

The following are some major signs of inappropriate affect: expressing emotions that do not fit reality; abnormal emotional responses; depression, irritability, or outbursts of anger without an obvious cause; manic episodes.”

In this post, I’m not going to get into Carmy’s other signs of inappropriate affect, such as depression, irritability, outbursts of anger without an obvious cause or manic episodes, which he certainly suffers from, perhaps I will in a different post. Here, I’m going to focus on several examples of Carmy’s abnormal emotional responses.

Above is another example of Carmy laughing in a serious situation. The delivery guy comes to deliver a 200 pound order in 1x8 and Carmy discovers that it’s pork and not beef. Pork is useless to Carmy. The name of his restaurant is literally “The Beef” and he needs it to survive. The stakes are very high for Carmy to have a successful, profitable run of service every time he opens the doors. He’s trying to save the one thing his brother left him, he owes his Uncle Jimmy $300,000 and promised he’d pay him back, his sister Natalie could lose her house if the restaurant fails, Sydney’s well being really matters to Carmy and she’s now under his protection and care as her boss, and the entire staff at The Beef relies on their jobs to live and pay their bills.

I don’t think Carmy takes any of this lightly. He understands the stakes. As he told Sydney in 1x5, “we lose one service it could kill us.” Granted, the delivery guy (shoutout to the actor portraying the delivery guy) is so deadpan in his “delivery”, that it almost is funny, but given the high stakes, Carmy’s reaction is abnormal here and will continue to be abnormal in the following scene in the walk-in when he realizes how behind he is on prep and that the restaurant is not prepared to open. This sets off a chain of disturbing dissociative behavior that almost results in him burning himself up, and the restaurant down.

Gif credit: The very kind @tvfantic87

Another example of possible inappropriate affect is in the moment when Carmy is reading Michael’s final words to him in the season 1 finale. There was so much buildup to this moment and so much emotion tied to the fact that we learn that Michael told Carmy that he loves him, and uses the words that Carmy has been playing in his head to comfort himself all season, “let it rip.” In this moment I was truly waiting for Carmy to break down and cry, to have the desperately needed release of a catharsis, but he never does. He gets emotional for a brief moment and then, as if on a dime, his face twists into a grimace and he laughs. I attribute his laugh and “what?!” to Carmy reading the part of the recipe “the smaller cans taste better”, in reference to the small cans of tomatoes, which has puzzled Carmy all season, and also the fact that he’s so happy and relieved that his brother didn’t forget about him. His reaction could also be an inappropriate response to the situation due to his inability to process his feelings because of his suppressed emotions and trauma about his brother’s death.

To me, the most glaring display of inappropriate affect comes in 2x10. Carmy is trapped in the walk-in during the opening night of his restaurant. He has no idea how the night has gone. For all he knows, his beloved Sydney and Richie are at each other’s throats, his mom is terrorising his pregnant sister, his evil former boss from New York has sent food back to Sydney and could be verbally abusing her, he’s not there to protect her, the restaurant is tanking and all hope is lost. Carmy sits down and looks up. He sees the messily ripped tape, radicchio is spelled wrong, and all at once it becomes clear to him that he has let everyone down by not being there to help his staff and lead his team. This scene is what is called a “private moment” in acting. He’s supposed to be alone, no one is around. It’s extremely private. No one can get in and he can’t get out. You would think he would use this moment of solitude to break down and cry, but again, he never does, and I found it very odd. Instead, he smiles and almost bursts into laughter. Why does he do this? I believe seeing the tape being messy and ripped, and not neatly cut with scissors like he has tried to train staff to do, is why. We know this is his pet peeve. It’s almost like it’s so awful all he can do is laugh, but in this moment it feels very, very off—because it is. It’s another example of his manifestation of not having the right affect. Even listening to Claire’s voicemail, on top of having that viscious fight with Richie should have broken him down, but it didn’t. He put his head in his hands. He still has not cried. This is particularly odd because in 1x2, Carmy tells his sister “I-I know tons of people that cry out of nowhere”, but we never see him have this response, ever. Honestly, the first time I saw the scene below, during the slow push in on his face I thought, he’s about to break character. That’s honestly what it looks like to me—a bad take that should have been reshot because the actor was not in the moment. And yet—-Jeremy Allen White is an incredibly skilled and focused actor, (as I wrote about HERE), which leads me to believe this choice must have been intentional to convey inappropriate affect caused by trauma.

Carmy needs professional help and therapy and he needs it badly. He has got to do something to help himself have a desperately needed breakthrough and come to terms with his past trauma and demons for the sake of his mental health. Al-Anon is a good step but it’s not enough. It’s a monologue, he needs one on one help and a dialogue. In Al-Anon, he only speaks to what he wants to share. In therapy, he would be asked questions and given exercises that would help him unravel his tangled mind. His panic attacks, nightmares and outbursts are a threat to his health. He must change his environment and get help. No one else can do it for him, and just like many of his inappropriate affect reactions to some of his more desperate moments, it truly is no laughing matter.

©️moments-on-film 2023

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear season 1 #the bear season 2 #mental health #my thoughts

[topguncortez]

I know I shouldn’t be, but I am genuinely so disappointed in Glen rn. Like how could he cheat on Gigi just like that??? And for his family to be going along with it and being so chummy with Sydney?? 👀👀👀

for my own mental health, i’m not gonna speak about glen, gigi, miles, keleigh or any of the actors cause y’all like to send vile nasty mean shit to me when i do.

so here’s my last and final opinion on glen & gigi: they are a private couple. always have been. probably always will be. if look through either one of their instagram accounts you might find like 3?ish posts about the other. that doesn’t mean they don’t care. that doesn’t mean they still aren’t together. it means that they would rather not flaunt their relationship on a very public app. these are human beings you are talking about. glen is human. gigi is human. and so is sydney and her partner.

celebrities do not owe us or you or anyone A SINGLE THING. they do not need to post about their relationship status. they don’t need to post what they had for breakfast. they don’t need to post what kind of underwear they prefer to wear.

rumors like this are the reason why rom-coms tend to not do so well. these actors, whether we wanna believe it or not, read comments and posts about themselves. ashton kutcher said once that he read comments about himself and reese witherspoon and was in a “cheating scandal” because of filming a movie with her and it basically ruined not only the movie but his friendship with reese. and i hate the fact that a male can’t be nice to a female without speculation?? i mean they are playing enemies to lovers. it’s acting. they are ACTORS. it’s kinda like they are doing their jobs??? glen and sydney are both professionals.

not saying that glen and gigi broke up but if they did… give them some respect. break ups are awful. they suck. they hurt. and i can’t imagine going through one when you have thousands of eyes on you watching your every single move.

#my asks #i’m not back yet #but y’all are taking this too far

[kjmsupremacist]

poison sweet off the vine (chan/felix)

Chan, a poor student hoping to make a little extra money while he pursues a masters in music production, lands a gig as a super rich family's pool boy. He thinks it's pretty sweet at first. He'll get to stay in a fancy house and eat fancy leftovers and all he has to do is clean their pool and help out around the house. And then he meets Felix, the bratty, sharp-tongued, skirt-wearing son of his employers. He knows he could get fired for just looking at Felix the wrong way, but Felix, even with his stormy, unpredictable moods and ignorant selfishness, is alluring and beautiful.

Part 1 | next mlist

Characters: Chan, Felix, other members of skz throughout

Genre: smut, eventual romance, angst, I cannot overstate how much of this is sex

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: alcohol, family dysfunction, mentions of homophobia, slut-shaming (both the fun kind and the not fun kind), feminization

Rating: Explicit

Length: 12.4k

Felix has got some shit going on in this one. It's not, like, super serious and we don't really get into addiction territory, but I will say it might be triggering for some people, so please just proceed with caution.

On that, we also don't really see what I would say is a realistic path of recovery or whatever. The ending is by no means meant to be read as "and then they lived happily ever after the end" but I leave a lot out because ultimately this is a horny fic within a sort of fucked up setting, and I didn't want it to turn into a pedantic exercise. So I guess this is sort of me saying the dove isn't dead, per se, but it's not doing well. I'm in no way trying to glorify mental health issues brought on by neglect and self-loathing, so please just keep that in mind.

Chan probably should’ve known what he was getting himself into. 

After months of searching for side jobs and apartments, he finally found what seemed to be a perfect solution—pool boy and general assistant around a grand estate, with room and board covered. The house is huge, with large, comfortable staff quarters. It’s a short bus ride away from the University of Sydney, where Chan will be pursuing a masters in music composition and production starting in February. And while the family who owns the place are rich and snobbish, they’re nice enough, and seemed reasonable during his phone interview.

Chan had no reason to say no. So in early December, he packed himself up and moved back to Australia from Korea, away from all his university friends and into a house of strangers. He’ll be missing the holidays with his family, but he wanted to start making money, so here he is. And up until this moment, Chan thought everything was going to be fine. 

“You’ll sleep here.” Mrs. Lee shows Chan to his room personally—a basement level bedroom with a small connecting bathroom and a sizable closet. There’s even a small desk in the corner—perfect for when Chan will stay up late studying. “You’ll use the small kitchen to make most of your meals, but we have luncheons and dinners sometimes to which all the staff are invited. Additionally, our cooks usually buy a little extra on groceries in case something goes wrong. If there are any leftovers, they of course go to our live-in staff members. So don’t worry too much over your grocery bills. For tonight, of course, I hope you’ll join the family for dinner so we can get to know you. I understand you’ll be taking classes after the break?”

“Yes ma’am,” Chan says, nodding as he tentatively drops his bags on the floor.

“If you could just send me your schedules as you get them, that would be helpful,” Mrs. Lee says. “I will try to let you know in advance if there are any important events where we need you, but for the most part I’ll leave those decisions to you. I just like to know when we can expect you to be home or away.”

“Will do,” Chan agrees. 

“Mostly, you’ll help with outdoor maintenance. We do have a gardener, but we let him know that he can feel free to ask for your help with more menial tasks.” Mrs. Lee gestures for Chan to follow her down the hall. “Here’s the staff laundry. There is also our main laundry room, where our maids take care of the family’s laundry. Since the holidays are coming up, we might be a little short-staffed over the next month or so. If our maid needs a hand with the laundry, can I ask you to assist?”

“Certainly,” Chan says.

“Perfect.” They head back up the stairs. “I believe that’s all I have for you, except to give you your key. Please use the staff entrance through the back. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says. “Are there specific hours I’m expected to keep? Such as being up at a certain time?”

“Unless one of us requests your presence earlier, I don’t mind when you get up as long as your sleep schedule doesn’t inhibit you from performing your duties,” Mrs. Lee says. She rummages around in a drawer in the study. “Here.” She produces a silver key on a plain keyring, handing it to Chan. “Try not to lose it, but if you do, just tell us straight away. We know a good locksmith, so it will be a quick fix. You have all our contact information?” 

“Yes,” Chan says, attaching the key to his ID protector that also has a few of his other things on it. “Thank you.”

“I think we’re all set, then,” Mrs. Lee says, leading Chan back out into the foyer. “I think introductions will wait until dinner, as my husband doesn’t get home from work for a few hours and goodness knows where Felix is—”

“I’m here, Eomma.” Chan turns at the sound of a deep voice, and sees his undoing poised at the top of the grand staircase.

He’s the prettiest thing Chan has ever seen. His hair is dyed a pale pink, and grown out so his bangs sweep low past his ears, the longest strands just brushing his shoulders. Chan can make out freckles scattering across his face, and delicate silver jewelry dangles from his ears and neck, glinting in the light as he makes his slow way down the stairs. Most notably, though, he’s in a baby pink blouse, tucked into a short white skirt, with matching pink knee-high stockings. 

Chan’s world tilts. He knew that this family had kids, that they were around his age. But at the time, Chan had reasoned that it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d be too busy between work and eventually school to develop much of an interest, and besides, they were probably all boring, spoiled brats that Chan would become disenchanted with the instant he saw them. 

Now, he has to grapple with the fact that he was sorely mistaken. Everything is not going to be fine, because his new employer has a beautiful, skirt-wearing son, and Chan has to fight to tear his eyes back to Mrs. Lee instead of staring at Felix’s thighs when his skirt flutters with every step.

“Is this the new pool boy?” Felix asks, and Chan doesn’t miss the lofty tint in his tone. He bristles a little, but it’s hard to stay mad when he glances back and catches sight of Felix’s cute little button nose scrunched just slightly against the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Yes, this is Chan,” Mrs. Lee says. “Chan, this is Felix, my son. He’s just finished his first year at university and is home for break.”

“Hi, Felix,” Chan says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Felix replies as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’re studying music at Sydney Uni, aren’t you? For your masters, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says, realizing that Felix must already know all about him; he has no doubt the parents shared his resume and details with their children before agreeing to hire him. “Where are you studying?”

“UWA,” Felix replies, smiling politely. “I’m not sure what I’ll be studying yet.”

“Perth,” Chan says, nodding. “That’s quite aways.”

“Not as far as Korea,” Felix says, and Chan can’t tell what he means by that. “Besides, Perth has some of the best schools, so it’s worth it.”

Chan decides that he’s being put down, but can’t figure out how, exactly, so doesn’t bother trying to piece it out. It hardly matters, anyway; Mrs. Lee is right here, so it’s in Chan’s best interest to remain ignorant and well-mannered. “That’s true,” he says simply.

Felix looks between Chan and his mother for a moment. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, and walks down the hall.

Mrs. Lee watches him go with a small, fond shake of her head, then turns back to Chan. “Feel free to head back to your room, wash up, maybe take a nap,” she offers. “I’m sure you’re tired from traveling. Dinner will be at seven.”

Chan ducks his head in lieu of a proper bow. “Thank you again for everything,” he says, and makes his escape. As he weaves back through the house, Chan catches a glimpse of Felix padding out into the garden. He’s got a full bottle of wine in hand, almost as pink as his stupid little stockings.

Chan sighs. It’s going to be a long summer. His only consolation is that Felix will go back to Perth at the start of the next semester and only be back for breaks, and Chan will be able to drown in his homework in peace.

* * *

Dinner is served at the big, fancy table in the dining room just off the foyer. Chan makes his way through the maze of hallways and sees an army of staff setting the table. He counts four positions—the parents, Felix, and him, then. The daughters aren’t supposed to be back for another week, if he recalls.

Mrs. Lee is directing her staff, positioned in the threshold of the kitchen entrance, tasting dishes and sending some back. She spots Chan during a lull and steps into the dining room fully. 

“Please, take a seat.” She gestures him to the spot furthest from the head of the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Ah,” Chan says, pulling out his chair but hesitating to sit. “Just water, please. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, don’t worry,” she replies, ducking her head back into the kitchen. “A glass of water, please.” She pops her head back out to the dining room. “Though if Felix doesn’t appear by the time my husband arrives, I might ask you to go fetch him.” 

Chan inclines his head, though the thought of it makes him tense. He doesn’t like the idea of being alone in a room with Felix. He’s not sure if it’s fear over what Felix will say to him, or fear of his own impulses. Maybe both.

The table is set before Chan; eventually, Mrs. Lee is satisfied with her staff and takes a seat, too, to the right of the head of the table, opposite side as Chan, which means Chan’s seatmate will be Felix. Great. 

Mrs. Lee checks her watch. “I think he just got home,” she says. “Would you mind getting my son for me? We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Sure,” Chan agrees, pushing his chair back cautiously and standing. “Any places I should check first?”

“Out in the garden, most likely,” Mrs. Lee replies. “If not there, then the pool, and if not there, then his room.”

“Got it.” Chan heads through several rooms to the back door, shoving his feet into the slippers Mrs. Lee had laid out for him there when he first arrived, and punches in the code on the alarm system so the siren doesn’t go off before opening the door. 

The air is muggy and thick and oppressive. Chan feels the moisture on his skin as soon as the door shuts behind him. He trudges across the vast second-story patio and over the bridge that looks down onto the smaller patio below, as well as the pool. No sign of Felix there. He crosses into the gardens, venturing deeper until he comes upon a clearing. It’s lined with carefully-maintained plants and a few statues. There, on the other side, sprawled on an ornate bench beneath the grand weeping willow, is Felix. He had one arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging off the bench, clutching the neck of the wine bottle, which rests somewhat precariously in the grass. 

“Ah, Felix?” Chan tries. Felix doesn’t budge. Sighing, Chan makes his way across the clearing, swatting a bug away as he nears him. There’s a nearly-red tinge to Felix’s cheeks, obscuring his freckles. He must have gotten some sun, despite the fact that this entire clearing is in shade. Then again, he’s been out all afternoon, Chan supposes. He comes to a stop a few feet away from the bench, unsure. The skirt Felix is wearing is riding up his thighs. Chan clears his throat and tries not to stare. “Felix, your father is home and your mother asked me to bring you to dinner.”

Felix raises the hand over his eyes, squinting up at Chan. There’s a blankness on his face for a few moments, and then a detached sort of recognition falls into place. “Pool Boy Chan,” he says, voice slow and syrupy. “Your welcome dinner, right. It’s seven already?”

“Seven-twenty,” Chan supplies.

Felix sighs, peeling himself up from his perch and bringing the bottle into his lap. Chan sees it’s almost completely empty, and understands the flush on Felix’s cheeks. He watches as Felix yawns, runs his eyes, and then surveys the contents of the bottle. “Ugh, it’s all warm,” he mutters, but downs it anyway before pushing himself up to his feet, now-empty bottle swinging at his side. He sways for a second but rights himself before Chan can reach out to help him. “Well?” he prompts, looking at Chan. “Are you gonna stand there, or are we gonna go to dinner?”

Chan wonders how Felix’s parents will react to the wine, but decides it’s not his place to say anything. “Right, yeah,” he says, turning and shuffling back the way he came, checking over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he hasn’t lost his charge. 

Felix picks his way through the garden with ease. How are his stockings still so perfect? How is his blouse still tucked and smooth? How is he pretty even with a sour attitude and alcohol warm in his cheeks? Chan balks at this last thought. Stop it. You cannot be thinking about how pretty your boss’s son is. On day one. Get a fucking grip, Chris. 

Felix does trip going from the grass and dirt of the garden to the concrete and tile of the bridge. Chan catches him, staying steady even when the wine bottle hits him right in the elbow. Chan makes the mistake of inhaling when Felix is pressed close. He smells like wine, certainly, but he also smells like lemons and sugar and something that makes Chan want to press his tongue to Felix’s skin. 

“Sorry,” Felix says in a tone that’s just a touch too silky for his loss of balance to have been accidental. Chan steels himself, making sure Felix is solid before simply letting go. 

“No worries,” he replies mildly. If Felix wants a reaction out of him, he’s not going to get one. “You okay?”

Felix nods, lifting the bottle a bit. “Drank most of it sitting down,” he says, offhand. “Thought I would sleep it off, but…”

Chan nods wordlessly, continuing across the bridge and patio, back to the door. He unlocks the door, sliding his shoes back off and waiting as Felix struggles a little with his. When he offers his hand, though, Felix gives him a look of disdain. 

“I’m tipsy, not catatonic,” he says, tone icy. Chan retracts his hand quickly before he can stop himself, stung. 

Felix gets rid of the empty wine bottle somewhere between the back entrance and the dining room. When they return, Mr. Lee is just settling into his chair. He looks up and, upon seeing Chan, offers his hand to shake. Chan hurries to accept. 

“Chan?” Mr. Lee asks. 

“Yes, sir,” Chan says. He doesn’t miss the slightly sharper inhale from behind him—thinly veiled amusement from Felix. He doesn’t turn his head. 

Mr. Lee also ignores this intrusion. “Mr. Lee, and no need to call me sir,” he says. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you for getting Felix,” Mrs. Lee adds, picking up a dainty bell beside her empty wine glass and ringing it once. “He’s often late, though I must say it’s not like him to… indulge so much before dinner.” There’s a sharpness under the polite tint of her tone, Chan notes as he slides into his chair and reaches for his napkin—disappointment, edges jagged with embarrassment.

“I just had a couple glasses of wine,” Felix defends. Staff members file into the room, carrying pitches, dishes, more wine. “I’m on break, Eomma. I’m relaxing.”

“Only one glass with the meal,” Mrs. Lee says. 

“Eomma,” Felix complains. 

Mrs. Lee’s eyes flick to Chan, then back to her son. “Fine. Don’t do it again.”

Felix nods. Chan files this exchange into his mind to study later. 

Wine is poured, soup is served, and dinner begins. 

“So, you’re studying music, Chan?” Mr. Lee asks.

Chan is grateful the soup is made from cold cucumbers; he swallows quickly and painlessly so he can respond. “Ah, yes, music production.”

“The arts are very important,” Mr. Lee says. “But they require a passion.”

“I believe I have that,” Chan says as politely as possible. 

“That’s good,” Mr. Lee says. “We are nothing without drive, ambition.”

Felix takes a long pull from his wine glass. 

The rest of dinner goes this way—polite drivel bounced back and forth like a casual tennis match between Chan and the Lee parents, while Felix mostly ignores all of them in favor of his meal. Each new course resets Chan’s expectations for just how horrendously rich this family is. A dish featuring caviar is followed by a truffle risotto, and then lobster. The wine is endless, so Chan keeps to sips.

He also gets the distinct impression that family mealtime is rare, a practice that is stored away in a cabinet with the nice dishes, taken down and used only when necessary. 

Chan doesn’t keep track of how much Felix is drinking, but by the time dessert comes around, the flush has crept down Felix’s neck. Still, he seems steady enough, and when he is pressed for a comment, he provides one with ease. So is that what he is? I guess every rich family has its functional alcoholic. More money, more problems. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Chan says earnestly when the staff come to clear the last of their dishes away.

Mrs. Lee offers him a smile. “Of course,” she says. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Congratulations,” Felix cuts in before Chan can formulate a reply. “She’s impressed with your table manners.”

“Felix,” Mrs. Lee says, tone cool but meaning clear. “It wasn’t a test, Chan,” she adds. “We just would provide some… instruction if you had been… less practiced. So you could be prepared in the case of a more formal event.”

“Ah,” Chan manages. 

“Well, on that note,” Mr. Lee says. “I think we’ve held Chan here long enough. You must be tired from traveling.”

“A bit,” Chan admits. It is true, but he’s mostly interested in getting away from the awkward tension at this table. 

“Go on and get some rest, then,” Mrs. Lee says. “Both of you. The staff will clean up here. We—” She gestures to her husband. “—will likely be gone when you get up and will return later in the evening. That’s typical of our schedules. Meals are whenever you’re hungry. Our kitchen isn’t fully staffed at the moment, but Chan, please help yourself to any leftovers. Maya—one of our senior employees—will be able to help you.”

“Thank you,” Chan says. Felix is already standing. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Chan takes this as a final dismissal, and hurries to follow Felix’s retreating footsteps down the hall.

He doesn’t catch up to him; the steps leading down to the staff quarters are closer. As he descends, he looks back and catches a glimpse of the swishing white of the skirt and the faintest whiff of sugary lemons. 

* * *

Chan collapsed into sleep as soon as he got settled in his room, exhaustion pulling him down into unconsciousness almost violently. When he wakes, the house is still and dark, the air in his room stale. There’s a damp patch directly beneath his body on the sheets from a small accumulation of sweat—he must not have moved a muscle since shutting his eyes. 

Though fatigue weighs on his limbs, his mind is decidedly awake, so Chan pushes himself up, slapping around for his phone and then groaning when the bright screen sears his eyeballs. 

Eventually, he discerns that it is 5:17 a.m. Chan’s an early riser, but not this early, so he blames it on the nap he took before dinner yesterday. In any case, it can’t be jetlag, since Korea is an hour behind Australia. Chan gets up and dressed, bumbling around his room quietly and trying to kill a little time. 

Around six, his stomach growls angrily, so he resigns himself to human interaction and opens his door, making for the kitchen. 

The light is on when he gets there, and an older woman is stacking dishes in one of the cupboards. She must have heard Chan approach, or else simply has a great sixth sense, because she turns as he enters. 

“Chan?” she asks. She’s white, unlike most of the staff, with weathered skin and crooked teeth and piercing eyes. Chan guesses she must be in her mid-fifties; her hair is just beginning to grey. 

“Ah, yes,” he says, realizing it was more a question than a greeting. 

“Maya,” the woman says, and some neural pathway manages to fire in Chan’s brain and reminds him that this must be the woman Mrs. Lee mentioned the night before. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Chan replies. 

“You hungry?” She returns to her task, sliding some plates into place. 

“Yes,” Chan says. 

“Me too.” She takes the last handful of silverware and files it into a drawer. “How about some bacon and eggs?”

“That would be amazing,” Chan says. “Can I help?”

“If you want toast, it’s in here,” Maya says, tapping a long, skinny cabinet door as she shuffled past on her way to the fridge. “Could you grab me a slice? Not toasted, though, just leave it on a plate. Do you want coffee?”

“Yes please,” Chan says, taken aback by her blunt but warm welcome, lurching into motion and crossing to the cabinet. 

Chan makes toast and Maya cooks at the stove, coffeemaker brewing to the side. “Mr. and Mrs. Lee are already gone,” Maya tells him without him even asking. “Felix will get up anywhere between seven and noon. The girls will be the same. Generally, as long as you’re polite and you don’t get… underfoot, you’ll find your time here to be quite pleasant.”

Chan registers that she’s offering him some valuable advice. “I’ll keep it in mind, thank you,” he says.

Maya looks him over out of the corner of her eye. “You seem like a nice young man, though,” she says. “I doubt you’ll have a problem.”

“Have there been… problems before?” Chan ventures. 

Maya is quiet for a moment, but eventually she responds. “Yes, we’ve had a few pool boys in the past. Of course, some simply moved away, but.. we had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls.” She turns and Chan sees she’s done cooking—she’s holding two perfect plates of bacon and eggs. “Not just the pool boys, of course, other staff members have been fired for similar reasons. It’s usually that, or stealing.” She offers Chan one of the plates.

“Thank you,” he says. “And thank you for explaining. I am just here to earn some money while I’m in school, though, so you’re right, I doubt I’ll have a problem.” That is, unless Felix takes over my brain, he adds silently. 

The leathery skin of Maya’s cheeks wrinkles as the corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile. “Good.” She nods towards the door. “Go on, find a spot at the island. Take your toast. I’ll bring the coffee and jam.”

Chan’s just finishing up his food when Felix stumbles in, head in his hands. He’s barefaced and puffy-eyed and wrapped in a simple silk robe. It hangs loose at the chest. Chan snaps his gaze back to his plate before he can get caught looking. Felix slumps into a seat at the far end of the island.

Maya has already finished eating, and was in the kitchen cleaning up, but she comes in now with a mug of coffee and a small tablet of medicine in the other hand, tsking at him softly. 

“Thank you,” Felix grumbles quietly. “I haven’t thrown up yet, but if I do, I’ll clean it myself.”

Maya hums her approval. “Just toast for now?” 

“Yes please,” Felix says. 

Chan listens to this exchange attentively. This Felix is entirely different from the one he met yesterday. He kind of expected him to snap at Maya, to be antagonistic the way he was before, but instead he’s small and quiet and contrite. Maybe Chan misread him. Or maybe his hangover is just that awful. 

Felix downs the pill Maya brought him with a soft groan. There’s a heavy silence save for the soft scraping of Chan’s fork against his plate. And then—

“No, I don’t usually drink like that,” Felix says flatly, and Chan nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“I didn’t say you did,” he replies quietly once he recovers. 

“You were thinking it,” Felix says. “Last night. And yes, I’m usually polite to our staff. I’m spoiled, but I’m not a monster.”

The Felix Chan met yesterday had been a bit of a monster, rude and arrogant and selfish, so Chan doesn’t know if he buys that, but he just puts his utensils down and looks up at Felix, holding his gaze. “Okay,” he says.

“You’re not smarter than me, okay?” He says it with such finality. 

Chan’s not exactly sure what he means. “Uh, okay,” he agrees anyway, taking his final bite of toast and washing it down with the last of his coffee. 

Felix nods and goes back to being miserable into his palms. Chan almost feels bad for him—almost. 

He brings his dishes back to the kitchen, protesting weakly when Maya takes them. 

“Your job isn’t in here,” she says. “Go on, tend to the pool before it gets too hot.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, and slips out the front entrance so he doesn’t have to confront Felix again, heading back to his room for some sunblock and a bottle of water. 

Though it’s only a bit past seven by the time Chan makes it outside, it’s already punishingly hot. He tries to make quick work of it, skimming off dead leaves and dead bugs and other unidentifiable debris. He tests the water, tests the filters, tests the temp, and clears the pool deck of debris as well. He checks the stock of towels, water bottles, liquor and ice and mixers behind the bar on the far end of the patio. By the time the pool and deck look spotless, it’s nearing eleven and Chan is drenched in sweat. He retreats to the shade, treating himself to a bottle of water.

He doesn’t see Felix approach, but suddenly the boy is standing over him, dressed in nothing but short black swim trunks, sunglasses pushed back over his hair.

“Come float with me,” he says. “You’re gonna die of heatstroke if you don’t.”

Chan grunts, taking another swig of water. “I'm supposed to be working.”

“Well, are you?” Felix asks. “Working? The pool’s already clean. Jerry isn’t here today, so there’s no gardening to do. Your only responsibility now is keeping me company.”

Chan’s still not sure how to take this shift in attitude. “I don’t think that was in the job description.”

Felix’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “Fine, sit here and melt then, I don’t care.” He turns to go; Chan finds himself wounded somehow by the sourness in his voice.

“Hey, alright, alright,” he says quickly, pushing himself up onto his feet and tugging his tank top off. “You’re right, anyway, I’m melting.”

Felix turns back, and his gaze is bright again. “Good,” he says, and slips into the deep end.

Chan joins him, and has to admit the relief of being in the cool water is almost overwhelming. He paddles out to Felix, tipping onto his back. “Feeling better?” he asks. 

“Mmhm,” Felix says. “Toast, coffee, and antiemetics work wonders.”

Chan can’t help but laugh. “Oh, that’s what Maya gave you?”

“What, did you think it was an antidepressant or something?” Felix asks. When Chan hesitates, he groans. “We’re not that stereotypical. Rich family with tortured children. No, we’re just about regular in terms of dysfunction.”

Chan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he just kind of hums. 

“What’s your family like?” Felix asks. He floats into Chan; their shoulders bump and settle against each other. Neither of them move to pull away.

“Ah, I dunno, we’re pretty boring,” Chan says. “Grew up here, actually. Moved back to Korea. I have two younger siblings, a sister and a brother. Hannah’s in secondary school. Lucas is still in primary.”

“And you’re going into music,” Felix says, like he’s reviewing a file.

“Trying to, anyway,” Chan replies.

“I wish I could go into music,” Felix says. “But Abeoji says it’s not sensible. So I’m studying business and communications. He wants me to take over for him.”

Chan can’t conjure up much sympathy. No matter what Felix does, he’ll be doted on and provided for for the rest of his life. He has a path laid out before him; all he has to do is walk it. If he says he wants to walk it but is too tired, his parents would probably conjure up a gold chariot to carry him down it instead. Maybe it’s not what he wants, but it’s secure. Chan wishes he had security.

He feels tiny fingers on his bicep and looks up. Felix is ghosting a hand over the muscle, watching Chan, waiting. 

“What?” Chan asks.

“Do your parents know you’re gay?” Felix asks bluntly.

Chan blinks. “Uh, how did you know I’m gay?”

Felix gives him a look. “Please,” he says. “I already told you, you’re not smarter than me.”

“Yes, my parents know I’m gay,” Chan says, sighing. “Why?”

Is Felix moving closer? “How do they feel about knowing?” 

“They’re supportive,” Chan says uncertainly. Felix’s hand is still on his arm. His lips have gotten color back into them, pink-red and plush, Cupid’s bow all dramatic corners and enticing. Chan can smell him over the chlorine and sunscreen. Lemons and sugar and something else. He swallows, hoping Felix doesn’t see.

“Lucky you,” Felix says. “How do you feel about knowing it?”

“I’m not emotionally constipated, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Chan says. He can’t stop staring at Felix’s lips. He wants to grab his little wrist. He wants to grab both of them, wrap his arms around Felix’s waist, pin his hands behind his back, and kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. “I’m very comfortable with who I am.”

“Lucky you,” Felix repeats. Closer still; his eyes are half-lidded. Chan could count his freckles. He could kiss every one. “Lucky me.”

We had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls. Felix wouldn’t be any different, Chan knows. Chan would be fired on the spot. He needs an escape, so he blurts out the first thing that pops into his head, wrenching himself from the lust-addled stupor Felix has somehow coaxed him into. “If you don’t usually drink like you did last night, then why did you? Last night?”

It works, at least; Felix pushes away. “I’m hungry,” he says instead of answering, paddling over to the ladder. “Let’s get lunch.”

Chan accepts this, hurrying to follow him.

* * *

The next week passes mostly in this way. Chan gets up early, cleans, spends the midday either lounging or helping one of the other members of the staff. Maya cooks a lot of his meals. Felix comes to bother him on occasion, demands for his time or attention. When Chan accepts, Felix is bright and sunny. His air of general superiority never goes away, but he’s fun to hang out with when he’s not actively trying to get Chan to touch him. When Chan rejects him, too busy with work or too tired to withstand the teasing, Felix’s entire disposition shifts, dour and sulky and often rude. He retreats into himself for the rest of the day, punishing Chan by punishing himself. I guess he’s just used to getting his way, Chan thinks to himself. Not a monster. Just spoiled.

Still, in the back of his mind, Chan remembers the first day. What had Chan done that day to elicit the moodier Felix? Was it something Chan had done at all, or was he simply a convenient target for Felix’s ire? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which option he dislikes more.

The girls arrive that weekend. Chan meets them briefly; Rachael, the eldest, is much like her mother, and will be out most days because she has an internship. Olivia, the youngest, is sweet and funny but spends most of her time chatting on the phone with her boarding school friends. Their parents, at least, had the foresight of putting all of them in separate wings, so there’s very little chatter about the house, even when all three are home. Felix has rooms on the fourth and highest floor of the house, and overlooks the back patio, gardens, and pool. Olivia is in a tower to the east—like, a literal, actual tower; Rachael sleeps on the third floor in the western area of the house, nearer to the elevator and overlooking the front drive. The primary suite takes up a majority of the rest of the third floor, which is about all that Chan knows. He’s only been as high as the second floor once, and it was to fetch something for one of the maids. It’s mostly guest rooms and entertaining space. 

Felix’s sisters are friendly, but they generally keep to themselves even when they are at home. Chan imagines they’re skittish around new male hires, and can’t blame him. He wants to tell them they don’t have anything to worry about, but knows it won’t do any good. Still, the idea does give him some dark amusement. Don’t worry about me, girls. It’s your brother I want.

And god, does Chan want. Felix is always in short little skirts and dresses, sometimes with stockings and other ridiculous little accessories, and is usually made up too, with sparkly eyeshadow and dark eyeliner and smudged mascara and sticky lip gloss on his pouty lips. He always ends up in Chan’s space whenever he can get away with it, coming up to him when he’s working on the pool or settling in the grass beside him in the garden or perching on a running washer while Chan works on a new load of laundry. He leans in close until Chan’s head is filled with the smell of him, taunting Chan, daring him to take.

Chan maintains his composure as best as he can over the next couple weeks, better than the first day at the pool now that he knows what he’s in for. Felix asks him about himself, and Chan answers delicately. He doesn’t pry into Felix’s personal life. He tells himself it’s because he’s being professional, or that he doesn’t want to give off the impression that he’s interested in Felix, which he fears will only make him bolder. But really, he knows it’s because he’s afraid that he’ll like what he finds, dragging him impossibly deeper into this weird psychosexual vortex, or else that he won’t like what he finds, but will nonetheless be enraptured by Felix’s terrible beauty.

He even jerks off to the thought of Felix despite his guilt, hoping it might cure him of his desire, but it does little to curb his impulses. Instead, it fills his dreams with Felix. Tortured, awake and asleep.

It’s not like Felix is helping in the slightest. If it were just in Chan’s head, he could probably bear it, stuff it away in some dark corner of his mind and soldier on. But the problem is, Felix seems to be determined to make Chan crack. He’s not even sure if Felix actually wants him, or just loves to toy with him. Either way, it’s kind of working. Chan is a man possessed.

Some days are like the first day, though. It doesn’t happen often, but Felix will disappear, and when he returns, it’s with alcohol in hand and an invisible veil over his features. He gets drunk and doesn’t speak to Chan or anybody else and stumbles off to bed. The next morning he pays the price for his indulgence, miserable but resigned. It’s almost like he’s punishing himself, but Chan doesn’t know for what. Still, by noon, he’s his regular self again, probing and selfish and dripping sweet poison that makes Chan nearly lose all sense. 

Chan does all he can to cling to his sanity. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted, he tells himself one hot morning as he pours himself a lemonade behind the bar, chores finally done. No matter what he does. You can’t control him, but you can control yourself.

And, of course, Felix appears. He’s in a little skort-bottomed bikini, baby pink with cherries smattering the surface of the fabric and heart-shaped pink sunglasses slung over the string in-between to the two cups on his chest. Chan feels a heat rise to his cheeks immediately, and fixes his gaze determinedly on Felix’s face instead. 

“Can you mix drinks?” Felix asks, hopping up onto one of the barstools. “You used to bartend, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Chan says. 

“Make me a Sex on the Beach,” Felix says, and Chan tries not to choke on his next sip of lemonade.

“D’you even know what’s in one of those, or are you just saying it because you like the name?” he asks with raised eyebrows, suppressing a cough.

“Vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry juice,” Felix rattles off immediately. “And sometimes those cherries or an orange slice. But I like mine with more peach schnapps and less vodka.”

Chan sighs at him. “I can’t just feed you alcohol. I don’t care if you’re old enough, I shouldn’t enable you. Your parents will kill me if you swan into dinner drunk on cocktails I made you.”

“I won’t get drunk off one cocktail,” Felix says. “Especially if you make it with less vodka and more schnapps.” When Chan hesitates, Felix wheedles, “Fine, no vodka at all. I just wanted to watch you make it, really. That’s all.”

“What?” Chan blinks at him stupidly. “Why?”

“You have nice arms,” Felix replies, like it’s simple. “I like strong guys, you know.”

“Well, I’m definitely not doing it now,” Chan mutters.

“Chan.”

“Felix.”

“Please?” Felix makes his eyes big and sad and pitiful.

“Will you lay off if I do?” Chan barters. 

“Pinky-swear,” Felix says, offering his pinky.

Chan links his reluctantly. “Okay, fine. Just one, though. No vodka, just schnapps.”

Felix keeps to his word. He doesn’t say anything else suggestive or flirty. What he does instead, Chan thinks as he lifts a bottle to measure and watches Felixfollow the line of his arm, is much worse. His eyes darken, his tongue poking out to swipe over his gloss-covered lips. He drags his gaze over Chan’s body, hiding nothing about it, about where he’s staring and why. Chan is embarrassed by the attention, of course, but mostly it all just goes straight to his dick. Felix is practically begging Chan to fuck him, and Chan wishes more than anything he didn’t have to say no.

He finishes making the drink, dropping a couple of maraschino cherries in, and even finds a pink umbrella to garnish it along with a matching straw.

“Thank you.” Felix’s voice is even deeper and huskier than usual. Chan clenches his fist around the neck of the schnapps bottle as he moves to put it away. “Ooh, this is really good. You must’ve been popular as a bartender.”

“I got good tips.” He cleans off the counter and dries his hands. “I’m, uh, gonna go in and see if Maya needs anything from me. Leave the glass in the sink when you’re done. I’ll clean it later.” He starts walking before he even gets an answer.

But Felix’s voice floats over to him on the wind, sweet poison just like the drink in his hand. “See you later, Chan.” 

Chan doesn’t go see if Maya needs anything. He heads straight to his room, locks the door behind him, and turns the shower on. He strips quickly, throwing his clothes on the floor and steps in under the cold water, chest heaving.

He comes with his forehead pressed to the cool tile, icy water pounding against his back and fist wrapped around his cock. It barely keeps the heat beneath his skin at a simmer.

When he goes back to the pool, Felix is nowhere to be found. The glass is clean and drying on the rack.

* * *

It’s on a particularly hot day that the last of Chan’s resolve melts into nothing.

Felix’s parents are both out, his father at work and his mother at some kind of social gathering; his sisters are gone, too—Rachael at her internship and Olivia at a friend’s house, and most of the staff have already taken leave for the holidays—Christmas is less than a week away. So it’s just Chan and Maya, and Felix.

Felix came down to breakfast that morning in something rather modest, actually—a light, flowy skirt that fluttered a few inches above his knees, and a plain t-shirt tucked into the waistband. Simple and demure. Chan had let it lull him to a false sense of security, thinking, it’s too hot today for mischief anyway, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong. Chan’s checking one of the filters in the shallow end of the pool, water lapping at his thighs, when Felix pokes his head out the back door. “Chan,” he calls.

“Yes?” Chan looks up, rinsing his hands off in the pool water.

“Can you help me? The zipper on my skirt is stuck, and I can’t twist it around to the front to see what’s wrong.”

Chan knows it’s dangerous. His promise to himself from the week before echoes faintly in his head. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted. But Felix looks genuinely upset. And it’s not like there’s anyone else to help him—Maya’s probably busy with the laundry, or working on lunch since their private chef is off until Christmas Eve. 

It’s just a zipper, Chris, he tells himself. You can handle a fucking zipper. “Sure, lemme just dry off.”

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Felix replies, disappearing inside again.

Chan grabs a towel and runs it over his legs, just so he doesn’t drip all over the floors, and then chucks it on a nearby pool chair and ducks into the cool relief of the house. He pads across the hall and knocks on the bathroom door. 

Felix opens it and Chan slips inside, trying not to stare. Felix is shirtless, wearing just his skirt and a pout. Unlike Chan, he doesn’t try to hide his staring at all; Chan considers only now that he should’ve put a shirt on before coming in, or at least kept the towel as some kind of buffer. 

Not that it would’ve done anything, he thinks wearily as he gestures for Felix to turn around so he can look at the zipper. He’s as incorrigible and fickle as they come. 

The zipper is, in fact, stuck—Chan has to wrestle with the fabric as delicately as possible, but growing up with a little sister wasn’t for nothing, and eventually he manages to free it without putting a snag in a single thread. He doesn’t unzip it all the way, just far enough that it’ll be easy for Felix to reach. He’s honestly a little bit afraid that Felix is naked under the skirt, and that interaction is the last thing he needs.

“All set,” he says, cringing at the way his voice comes out, hoarse and weak. 

He turns to leave, but one of Felix’s tiny hands curls around his wrist, pulling him up short. “Finish unzipping it for me,” he says. “It’s hard for me to reach.”

“Felix.” Chan turns back around. “You can do it yourself.”

“Why don’t you wanna do it for me?” There’s that pout again, the pretty pink lips, glossy and so inviting; the wide, pitiful eyes. Chan almost falls for it, too entranced.

“You know why.” Chan tries to gently pull away, but Felix’s grip is too strong. “Felix,” he repeats. He thinks maybe he’s pleading with him, please, have a little mercy on me.

But Chan isn’t sure Felix knows how to be merciful, at least not in the face of something he wants. “Unzip me,” Felix demands, voice soft and almost petulant. “You said you’d help.”

Just unzip him and run, then, Chan thinks, sighing and moves behind Felix again, shaking his hand until Felix lets him go. He pulls the zipper down all the way and nearly bites his tongue so he doesn’t curse out loud.

He’s cursing a lot in his head, though. Fuck, shit fuck fuck fuck shit, oh fuck. Because Felix isn’t naked under the skirt. It’s worse.

Felix shimmies his hips a little so the skirt falls to the floor. He steps out of the puddle of fabric, then bends at the waist to pick it up. Fucker, Chan thinks. “What? D’you like them?” Felix asks, throwing Chan a glance over his shoulder. “Hyung?”

What a stupid question. Chan tips his head back, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling instead of at Felix’s cute little ass wrapped in a baby blue swimsuit bottom that’s only a few square centimeters of fabric away from being an honest-to-god thong. Felix has them hiked up over his hips, leaving very little to Chan’s imagination. He wants to escape before he sees what the front looks like and abandons all of his feverish promises of goodness right here and now.

“Felix,” Chan says through gritted teeth. “I don’t think your parents would appreciate this behavior. I certainly don’t.”

“You don’t?” Felix’s voice sounds closer, but Chan doesn’t dare look down. “Are you sure about that?”

Chan is absolutely sure about that. His body, however, has other plans. He can feel himself getting hard, and he knows if he doesn’t get out now, Felix will be able to see it through his swim trunks, and he’ll be done for. 

He feels fingertips on his waist, soft and warm. “Hyung,” Felix murmurs. “Look at me.”

Chan can’t help it. He crumbles completely at the sound of Felix’s voice, low and sweet and so enticing. He brings his head back to center, eyes focusing on Felix, and his breath catches in his throat as his gaze instantly travels lower. The front of the swim bottoms barely cover him; one wrong move and Chan’s certain Felix’s dick will pop free—which, he reflects, is probably exactly what Felix wanted. He flicks his eyes back up to Felix’s face, and is met with a devious little grin.

“I’m looking,” Chan says. “What else do you want from me?”

“I think you know exactly what I want,” Felix says.

“We can’t,” Chan says. “It’s not—appropriate, you know it’s not.”

“Why, because you’re working for my parents? So what?” Felix says. His hands are still on Chan’s body, trailing up his stomach. “They don’t have to know. It’s not that big of a deal! You’re only a couple years older than me, it’s not like it’s that scandalous. I want it. Don’t you?”

Chan swallows roughly. His skin is hot where Felix is touching him, even though goosebumps have broken out over his back where the A/C is blowing. This is it. Chan’s going to ruin his life for a terrible, pretty boy, and he finds that he doesn’t even care. “I do,” he whispers. He grabs one of Felix’s hands, the one that’s trying to sneak a little too low. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Victory shines through on Felix’s face, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Fucking finally,” he goads.

“Shut up and come here,” Chan says, and leans in and kisses him. 

Felix squeezes Chan’s waist with his other hand, gasping into his mouth. Chan takes a step forward, and another, cupping Felix’s jaw with one hand and nearly crushing his fingers in the other, backing him up against the wall. He licks Felix’s lip gloss off his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It tastes like artificial strawberry, gooey and sickly-sweet. He drops Felix’s hand, breaking away from him for just a second so he can take his baseball cap off, so the brim doesn’t get in the way. He throws it over in the direction of Felix’s discarded clothes without looking, and surges forward to kiss Felix again. Felix moans, taking hold of one of Chan’s biceps.

“Fuck,” Chan pants, reaching down and palming Felix’s ass, groaning when Felix hums out a noise of satisfaction. “God, if your parents weren’t gonna kill me before, they’re definitely gonna kill me now.”

Felix giggles. “No, they won’t.”

“I don’t care,” Chan says, dipping his head so he can nip at the sensitive skin of Felix’s neck, kissing over the hollow of his throat. “I’ll tell them it was your fault. You were the one who kept flirting with me, kept riling me up. Always wearing your shortest skirts, always looking for an excuse to touch me.”

“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t looked at me like that on the day we met,” Felix shoots back, and Chan flushes in embarrassment. He should’ve been more careful, he shouldn’t have even wanted it in the first place, but—well. It’s far too late now. “You made it so easy. It was too fun, I couldn’t resist.” 

“You’re such a brat,” Chan bites out. “Don’t act like it was just for fun. You wanted me to fuck you from the start.”

“So are you going to?” Felix asks. “Fuck me?”

“Well,” Chan says. “We’re gonna need lube. And probably a condom. And we probably shouldn’t be in the bathroom, what if Maya walks by? What if your mum gets home early and comes looking for you?”

“We could go up to my room,” Felix says, but he makes no move to pull away, and neither does Chan. Instead, Felix’s fingers find the waistband of Chan’s shorts. He toys with the fabric. “But I don’t want to wait. I want to come.”

“Already?” Chan asks, like he isn’t just as worked up, like he isn’t hard and aching just centimeters from Felix’s fingertips. 

“Touch me and find out,” Felix replies, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches down, ghosts his palm over the bulge in Felix’s obscenely small swim bottoms. Felix whines softly in his ear, so Chan gets bolder, curling his fingers and squeezing just slightly. The noise it pulls out of Felix’s chest is poisonous and wonderful.

Chan tugs the swim bottoms down as Felix lets his fingers slip inside Chan’s pants. A string of precome stretches from the head of Felix’s cock to the fabric before snapping midair. Chan presses his thumb against the slit, looking down to watch a few more beads dribble out over the tip when he pulls away. He collects it with his index fingers, spreading it down the length of Felix’s cock before taking him in his fist. “So messy, Felix,” he murmurs.

Felix fumbles for Chan’s cock, moaning softly. “Your hands are so big,” he whimpers. His hips twitch up into Chan’s palm. “Feels good.”

Though Felix is wet, there’s still too much friction, so Chan releases him for a moment. Felix whines at the loss, but Chan shushes him, spitting into his palm, and then takes him in his fist again, letting his spit mix with the precome, making the glide easy and smooth. Felix stutters over a moan, letting his head tip forward so his forehead is resting on Chan’s chest. He runs his fingers up the length of Chan’s cock, then brings his hand back out to the waistband of Chan’s shorts and tugs them down with a frustrated noise. 

Chan moves his hand faster over Felix’s cock, a dark, nasty sort of pleasure blooming in his chest when it makes Felix tremble. He lets out another choked little moan, and Chan shushes him. “Someone could hear you, and we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

Felix doesn’t listen. “Cha-an,” he slurs, pressing a wet kiss to Chan’s chest as he fumbles with his cock. His little fingers are a bit clumsy, but it doesn’t matter to Chan. Felix is touching him, like he’s been imagining, like he does in Chan’s dreams. He’s not entirely sure this isn’t just another dream, except that it feels so real. He can smell sugar and lemons and Felix. He speeds up his hand, moaning low when Felix nips at his skin. 

“I tried, you know,” Chan huffs softly. “You know that, right? I tried not to let this happen. I tried not to want you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felix says against his skin. “Didn’t work.”

“No it didn’t, did it?” Chan finds it easy to accept. “Look at me, baby.” 

Felix straightens, looking up at him. There are stars in his eyes. “What?”

Chan doesn’t reply, just kisses him again. His lips are so soft, mouth so inviting. Chan could kiss him all day, he thinks, running his tongue over the backs of Felix’s teeth. Felix rolls his hips in time with Chan’s hand, stroking Chan at the same pace, letting himself be kissed. The noises he makes against Chan’s lips only make the dark pleasure grow. Felix is ruining him, but at least the destruction is mutual. Chan’s gonna make sure he’s the best fuck Felix will ever have.

Felix pulls away to pant out, “Chan, Chan, oh fuck, so good, daddy, fuck,” and then he’s shooting hot white release onto Chan’s fingers, Chan’s arm, Chan’s stomach. Chan can’t help the low almost-growl that drags itself up his throat as Felix shakes, whimpering sweetly in Chan’s arms. 

“Good boy, baby,” Chan murmurs, head spinning from the way Felix sounded, the way he called him daddy. Coming out of any other mouth, it would’ve made Chan cringe, but somehow with Felix it makes his knees weak and his vision blur. “Made such a mess, you gonna clean it up?”

Felix doesn’t say anything, just bends over, still trembling, and presses his tongue to Chan’s abdomen, swiping at his own come until Chan is clean, even his arm and hand. He pulls off Chan’s fingers with a wet pop, blinking up at him.

“Still want me to fuck you?” Chan asks darkly, prying Felix away and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Yes,” Felix whispers, that same trained sultry look back in his eye. He recovers quickly, Chan thinks, almost exasperated.

“Get dressed, then,” Chan says. “If Maya asks, you invited me up to game.”

“Got it,” Felix says pertly, side-stepping Chan to retrieve his skirt, handing Chan his cap while he’s at it. 

Chan takes it, but doesn’t put it back on, instead doing his best to smooth his hair in the mirror, waiting while Felix tugs his t-shirt on, too.

“Zip me up?” Felix asks, and Chan is reminded exactly how he got here. It almost makes him laugh.

“Sure.” He pulls the zipper into place, bending to kiss the top of Felix’s spine when he’s done. “Ready?”

“Mm,” Felix says. “Let’s take the elevator, Maya probably won’t see us.”

He’s right. They get to the elevator without interruption and spend the ride from the basement to the fourth floor in complete silence. Chan had almost forgotten there was an elevator in the building, since most of his time was spent in the basement level or on the first floor. He’s pretty sure he’s never been in it. But it moves quickly, and soon Felix is leading them out and down a hall Chan has never stepped foot in. 

Felix’s room is like the rest of the house. It’s clean, proper, and stately. The only things that betray its inhabitant’s age are the figurines lining one of the bookshelves. Chan closes the door behind him, flicking the lock, and doesn’t have the chance to take in any more of his surroundings. Felix is on him in an instant, fingers at the waistband of his shorts again, needy and demanding. 

“C’mon,” he says, muffled by Chan’s skin. “You said you’d fuck me, so fuck me.”

Chan picks him up with ease, smiling to himself when Felix squeals his surprise, and walks them over to Felix’s bed. He deposits Felix in the sheets, hiking his shirt up and bending over him to suck a hickey into his inner thigh. 

“Chan,” Felix moans, sweet and low and perfect. “Daddy.” Chan bites, and Felix whines. “Oh, fuck, you’re so mean.” He’s breathless when he says it, delight pitching in his voice. His fingers find Chan’s hair, tangle in the curls. “Will you fuck me like that? Mean?”

Chan looks up, finds Felix’s glassy eyes. “Is that what you want, baby?” Felix nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Want me to treat you rough? Want me to pound your cute little ass into the mattress?” He doesn’t know how the words have snuck their way into his mouth—dirty and depraved. But it doesn’t matter, because Felix rolls his eyes back in his head, nodding emphatically. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Please. It’s all I’ve wanted this whole time. ‘S why I’ve been so annoying.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Chan mutters, crawling up the bed so he can kiss him.

Felix wraps his little legs around Chan’s waist, kissing him hungrily, trying to pull Chan closer. “Chan,” he murmurs against Chan’s lips between kisses. “Daddy, need you, please.”

“Where’s your lube, baby?” Chan asks. “Condom, too.”

Felix rolls over with a groan, yanking open the drawer of his bedside table and rummaging around inside. Chan takes the opportunity to unzip Felix’s skirt again, though he doesn’t tug it down yet. It’ll be easier when Felix is on his back. 

Felix reemerges from the drawer with lube and a condom held victorious in a tight fist. He rolls back over, lifting his hips as he hands over the goods so he can tug his skirt off. Chan helps him, dropping it on the floor off the side of the bed. Next goes Felix’s shirt, shucked easily up over his head and leaving him in just his microscopic swim bottoms. 

Chan does the only logical thing. He bends down and undoes the bows on Felix’s hips with his teeth. Felix gasps softly; it turns into a breathy moan when Chan turns his head and kisses the tip of his cock.

He kind of wants to blow Felix, but Felix asked to be fucked, and Chan has basically accepted that he’s never going to tell Felix no ever again, so he sits back on his heels and pumps out some lube. 

“Showered earlier,” Felix supplies. “I’m all clean.”

Chan wasn’t gonna ask, honestly, was just gonna go for it, but he appreciates it. He raises his eyebrows as he reaches down to spread his cheeks. “You were that confident it would work?”

Felix shakes his head. He looks so little, drowning in the crumpled duvet. Chan thinks his mouth is watering. “I was hopeful,” he says. “I’ve done it every day, hoping.”

“Jesus, baby,” Chan mutters, easing his first finger in and rubbing something patternless into the skin over Felix’s hip bone when he whimpers. “Just for me?”

“Mm,” Felix confirms. “Knew you’d come around eventually. Just wasn’t sure when.”

Chan’s got his finger in up to the last knuckle already. “You’re kinda loose, baby. Did you prep yourself already?”

“A little,” Felix admits coyly. “But you’re bigger than I thought.” A soft giggle rises up. “You’ll have to go up to four fingers for sure. I only did three of mine, and mine are tiny.” He holds up his hand to show, as if Chan hadn’t already catalogued this fact on day one, and hadn’t been obsessing over it ever since. 

“Jesus,” Chan repeats. “You do that every day, too?” 

“Not every—every day.” Felix’s breath hitches when Chan’s second knuckle slips back out and catches on his rim. “Usually just one finger, maybe two.”

It’s still incredibly hot. “Sure you were doing it for me, or do you just like having your hole played with?” Chan pushes two fingers in this time. It’s still not much of a stretch. 

Felix moans, showy and sweet. “Both,” he says. “Your fingers feel better than mine, though.” Chan is working up a slow rhythm. “You get deeper. I bet your cock will feel best.”

“Have you been thinking about it?” Chan asks, curling his fingers a little, searching around for Felix’s prostate. “Imagining my cock?”

Felix’s eyelids flutter. “It’s almost all I think about when I’m with you,” he admits, low voice impossibly lower. “Oh, fuck!” He arches up off the bed. Chan’s found it. 

“Yeah?” Chan teases, hoping his voice comes out steady so Felix doesn’t have proof of just how much this is turning him on. “Right there?” He does it again, petting over the spot, and Felix twitches weakly, letting out another incoherent moan. 

“Mm, daddy, stop, hurts,” Felix whines with absolutely no conviction in his voice.

Still, Chan avoids it for the next couple thrusts. “Can’t take it?” he goads. “But what happens when it’s my cock? I’m gonna fill you up, baby, you’re so tight, I won’t be able to avoid it.”

“I’ll fall apart,” Felix says, though not piteously. It’s more a statement of fact. “I don’t wanna fall apart yet.”

That’s fair, Chan supposes. He doesn’t respond, just fits his ring finger in alongside the first two. He meets some resistance, but Chan has done a good job so far, and Felix opens easily, so it’s not long before he’s pumping three fingers in and out of Felix like it’s nothing. 

“Ch-Chan,” Felix stutters. “Hurry up, I can take it.”

Chan kisses the inside of his knee. “No, I don’t know how you’d explain the limp to your mother.”

“She wouldn’t know it’s you I’m fucking,” Felix points out.

“Still,” Chan says. 

“She already thinks I’m a whore, it doesn’t matter,” Felix mumbles, so swift and quiet Chan almost misses it. 

“What?” He pauses mid-stroke. 

“Nothing,” Felix says. “It doesn’t matter is all. I said hurry up.”

You’re fucking him, you’re not his psychiatrist, Chan thinks to himself as he resumes fingering him. It’s not your job to try and fix his life. Even if you could, he’d hate you for it. 

They brush past the moment quickly, drowning it with the wet noises from between Felix’s legs and Felix’s sweet moans. Chan murmurs praise as he adds in his pinky—doing so good, baby, almost there, look so pretty, so patient for me—and Felix responds beautifully, fucking himself back down on Chan’s fingers and twisting in the sheets. A fine layer of sweat has broken out across his skin, making him glisten in the early afternoon light. By the time Chan finally pulls away, satisfied that he won’t tear anything when he fucks him, Felix’s cock is already hard again, red and leaking against his stomach. 

Chan rolls the condom on, spreading a little more lube over the length, watching Felix catch his breath. “Ready?”

“Chan, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll never forgive you,” Felix replies, and Chan laughs. He realizes it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while, the misery from keeping his desire tamped down and hidden for weeks too heavy for joy. But now it doesn’t matter anymore, and he’s laughing again. He lines himself up with Felix’s puckered entrance, pink and red and perfect. 

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, and pushes in. 

Felix is perfect. Chan knew this, but still—it was only imagination that had guided him all this time, because Chan’s never known anyone as perfect as this. The tight heat around him makes him shake. Felix’s eyes cross first, and then roll back completely as he lets out a moan when Chan finally bottoms out. Chan tips over Felix’s body, breathing out soft moans and pressing reverent kisses to his chest and stomach. 

“So full,” Felix rasps softly. His hands are in Chan’s hair again, combing it off his forehead. “Oh, fuck, Chan, feels so good.”

“Perfect, baby, you’re perfect,” Chan manages. He doesn’t know what else there is to say. “Take me so well, it’s like we were made for each other.”

Felix refocuses his eyes. Chan watches his slow blinking. “Could just stay like this,” he says. “Till my parents get home.”

This makes Chan’s dick twitch; Felix feels it and giggles. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Chan counters. “Mean.”

Felix sighs dramatically. “I want that, too.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Chan says, drawing his hips back and pushing in again. 

“Mm, or tonight,” Felix says. “After everyone’s gone to bed. You won’t be able to fuck me hard then ‘cause we’ll have to keep quiet. You could just put it in and we could cuddle like that.”

Chan groans, imagining it, their hushed voices in the dark, hoping no one hears them, biting back moans as Chan pushes in and fills Felix up. Huddling under the covers, chest to back, Chan’s arms wrapped around Felix’s lithe body. “Fuck, baby, you’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Felix nods. “I want you,” he says plaintively, like that explains it. Maybe it does, except Chan’s been wanted before, and it wasn’t like this. This is something else, something deeper, more primal. He knows because he feels it in himself, too.

“What do you want, baby?” Chan asks. He wants to know the ways Felix has been picturing him, wants to know if it’s the same as the ways he’s been picturing Felix. He thinks he’ll agree to anything Felix asks. 

“I-I,” Felix stutters, hesitant, but Chan recognizes it as fake. The words are just waiting to trip off Felix’s tongue. “I want you to fuck me and make me come over and over,” he begins. “I want it rough and fast. I wanna come so hard I almost pass out.” He’s picking up steam, talking faster. “ I want it everywhere. I want you to fuck me in the shower and bend me over my desk and push me up against the mirror.” He’s panting now, but he keeps going. “I want to ride your thigh in the pool, I want to choke on your cock when you’re eating breakfast. I’ll come find you in the garden, too, and I won’t be wearing any panties so you can finger me under my skirt.” He gives Chan a wide-eyed, innocent look when he says it, but Chan sees the clear intent behind the facade. He’s trying to rile Chan up, but he’s also dead fucking serious. “I can take it anywhere, any time, I want it like that. Doesn’t matter if I’m busy or drunk or asleep, I like it. I’ll like it if it’s you.”

“Lix,” Chan groans. “That’s so dirty.”

“Want you to take advantage of me, daddy,” Felix pleads, blinking up at him, his beautiful eyes huge. “I’ll only wear my tiniest underwear from now on, and I’ll finger myself open every morning so it’s easy. I’ll carry condoms in my bra, so you’ll know where to find them. Will you do it?”

“All of it?” Chan licks kisses up Felix’s neck. “We’re gonna get caught, baby.”

“Only when it’s safe,” Felix amends. “Can’t have them taking you away from me, who’d fuck me then?”

“Okay, only when it’s safe,” Chan agrees, because of course he wants it, too.

“Good,” Felix says. “Now fuck me harder, I wanna feel it.”

A strange sort of noise rumbles out of Chan’s chest. It’s something close to displeasure, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He pushes himself up off Felix’s body and grabs him by the backs of his knees. He pushes him down into the bed that way, folding him at the hips until Felix’s knees are almost at his ears. “So flexible, baby,” he murmurs. Felix lets out a satisfied sigh, which hiccups into a moan when Chan thrusts into him. His cock bobs in midair from the force of it, dripping precome on Felix’s chest. “That how you wanted it?” He adjusts to the new angle quickly, picking up the pace again.

Felix is breathless when he responds. “Yes, just like that, yes.”

Felix is spread so wide like this, his body curled over itself to accommodate Chan. Chan digs his fingers into the skin of Felix’s thighs, hard enough to bruise. Felix can always wear stockings to cover them up, and Chan has a feeling he’ll like having the reminder. He slams his hips forward, rough just like Felix asked, fast and ruthless. All Chan’s hours in the gym are finally paying off, and he forces down delirious laughter at the thought. 

“Look so pretty like this,” Chan grits out. “Should’ve kept your skirt on, babygirl, they always make your waist look so nice.” Felix lets out a whimper at the word babygirl, and Chan zeroes in on that immediately. “You like that? Babygirl?” Felix nods fiercely; Chan realizes tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes, his cute nose reddening. Chan leans close. It’s a little difficult, with all the body in the way, but he manages, kissing the hollow of Felix’s cheek, then trailing down to his jaw. “Why the tears?” he murmurs into Felix’s skin.

His voice vibrates in Chan’s skull. “Feels so good,” Felix replies. “Just—overwhelmed, can’t help it. Good tears, don’t fucking stop.”

Chan straightens again, satisfied that Felix is okay, so he doesn’t have to work so hard. “Okay, baby. You need me to stop, though, just say so.” He rocks his hips in deep, making the bed creak. It’s a good thing nobody’s home.

“I won’t ever tell you to stop,” Felix says, and it’s dreamy and almost vacant. He’s staring up at Chan, eyes a little unfocused. A tear rolls down his cheek, leaving a pale grey streak in his skin from his mascara. He snakes a hand between his torso and his thigh and wraps it around his cock, stroking slowly, almost absently. His eyes never leave Chan’s face, even when Chan thrusts hard and deep and makes him cry out. “D-daddy, hn, gonna make me—gonna make me come—ah, oh fuck.” The rest is unintelligible, staccato moans, and then Felix’s whole body convulses. He clenches down on Chan, making it almost impossible for him to move; his pretty face contorts into a twisted expression of bliss, and his legs tremble. He comes with a string of soft curses, so hard some of it shoots past his chest and hits his face, coating his lips and spattering across his cheeks, a few droplets even sticking in his eyelashes.

Felix releases his cock, which still dribbles out a few beads of come with Chan’s every thrust, arms going limp at his sides and head lolling back. 

“Fuck, Lix,” Chan grunts, movements shallow despite the urge to start pounding him again, kind of worried he’ll fall apart. “Sound so gorgeous when you come.”

Felix is slowly licking the come off his lips while he cleans his eyelashes with the hand he wasn’t using to touch himself, his chest heaving. “I wish,” he says softly, so faint Chan barely hears it, “that I was flexible enough to suck my own cock.”

Unbidden, the image of Felix curled tight over himself, his own cock stuffed in his mouth, hole gaping and spread, manifests in Chan’s mind. “Oh, god,” he gasps, and before he realizes it, he’s coming, too, buried deep inside Felix, knuckles white where he’s still holding his legs. 

Chan hangs his head, panting and disoriented, as he comes down. Presently, he unlocks his fingers and releases Felix’s legs; they slide down on either side of him, whispering soft against the duvet cover. He makes no move to pull out. He’s not sure he can move at all.

After a while, he looks up, and sees that Felix has managed to clean off his face. He shakes his head, groaning, and sits back on his heels, bending over Felix’s body, running his hands down his sides, and presses wordless kisses to his ribs and stomach, slow and lazy.

“Good?” Felix whispers.

Chan looks up at him. “So good,” he replies. “Better than I imagined. Not sure I should say that, since it’ll just encourage you, but it’s true.”

Felix giggles brightly. “I won’t be nearly so bad now that I know you’ll give me what I want,” he says, tipping his head to the side.

“I have a hard time believing that,” Chan replies, finally pulling out. He gingerly removes the condom and ties it off, crawling up the bed so he can reach the waste basket next to Felix’s bedside table. He grabs a tissue while he’s at it, and rolls onto his side, towards Felix. “C’mere,” he coaxes softly. “Let me clean you up.”

“Oh,” Felix says, like he’d forgotten entirely about the mess on his chest. He turns to Chan, reaching out and laying a hand on his bicep.

Chan swipes his drying come away, leaning it to kiss away the rest, tugging Felix close to him until they’re lying chest to chest, legs slotted together. He looks up. “All done,” he says softly.

Felix leans in and kisses his forehead. The gesture is oddly sweet. “You really went for it,” he says. “I was impressed. I thought you’d need more prodding.”

“You’ve been quite frustrating,” Chan points out, keeping any trace of venom out of his tone. He’s not angry about it anymore. “I guess that was all the prodding I needed.”

“Mm, I’ll keep it in mind,” Felix says.

“Please don’t,” Chan mutters, and Felix giggles again.

“Out of curiosity,” he says. “Which outfits did you like best?”

“What?”

“What do you like to see me in?” Felix asks evenly. “It’s just you around. I can dress just for you.”

“Oh,” Chan says weakly. “I like the short skirts. And the stockings. You have—” He shifts his hand lower and squeezes. “—the best thighs ever, I like when you show them off.” Felix hums, clearly pleased. “But seriously, you could wear anything, and I’d want to fuck you. So don’t worry about me.”

Felix laughs again, full-bellied and mischievous. “Oh, Chan,” he sighs. “And here I thought my Christmas break was going to be boring.”

#works #stray kids #chanlix #bang chan #felix #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #chan fanfic #chan fanfiction #felix fanfic #felix fanfiction #lee felix fanfic #lee felix fanfiction #chan smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #stray kids chan #stray kids chan fanfic #stray kids chan fanfiction #stray kids chan smut #stray kids felix #stray kids felix fanfic #stray kids felix fanfiction #stray kids felix smut #chanlix fanfic #chanlix fanfiction #chanlix smut #chan x felix fanfic #chan x felix #chan/felix

[faithfromanewperspective]

remember being in a horrid shitty mood catching the bus back to my parents, thinking, if they just painted a bus lane on the fucking road my journey could take less than 45 minutes and be way more reliable. wondering why it isn't there, the infrastructure, surely i could afford the jail time if i just went out there and built it, they wouldn't tear it down right? footpaths and shit. cause it's still a pretty rural area. instead i'm sitting on the bus destroying my mental health, no wonder i feel better having moved out of the area, when every car that cuts in front of us and all the traffic we can't just zoom past feels like a personal put-down, an insult to my way of life that i've chosen because it's better for all of us, not just me.

and realising, when my head's out of the constant frustration of it having moved out to somewhere walkable, i can see it 'above the trees' if you will that i can whine and bitch about it all i can (and believe me i have) but any change like the one i want, is political. we do this for the city, we as the whole city do it together. of course it would be good, say the 3+ million of us living in greater brisbane, soon to be 4, 5, 6, 7 million in the leadup to 2032 and after, but it's the tragedy of the commons isn't it? my priority, say 3+ million minus one self-supporting adult in this soon-to-be megacity, is getting to work every day and putting food on the table. i've never had that strong of a survival drive, I'd rather do the right thing and invest my choices into something that makes for a better city than be able to work or eat but when it comes to my mental health? sometimes you've gotta learn the hard way, some things you can't change, and it's not worth losing everything over. you can't think if you're exposing yourself constantly to what's fucking up your brain like if i punished myself for the inaction of the city it might make it better.

i'm starting to learn it doesn't. change is political, it's about power, and people are like water (bear with me, i'm a hydrologist) because it takes volume, all going a certain way, to make the biggest impact. have the strongest force. erode grooves in rocks and wash away entire buildings (this is brisbane, we've seen it happen). what we need, is all these people, 3+ million of us and more, coming together around an idea. getting together, council can't do anything to stop a majority, not in australia at least, and the functionality of a city is something we all need. heck, traffic is bad for all of our mental health and i would bet both my kidneys that the impact of it on our lives and relationships is understudied and underreported exponentially. we can solve this, but individual choices alone don't do shit.

so i'll stop beating myself up for not being able to simply will all the traffic lights along my commute to be green, and turn the energy i put into being mad at all of those stupid annoying cars into the things i do best. it turns out i'm really fucking good at drawing up ideas and connecting with people. so i'll stop beating myself up about the fact that the uni degree i did so i'd know about these things and the job i do for Experience and Sustenance meant i haven't had time to do all of these things As Soon As I Thought Of Them (like you always got told to do for your homework assignments). instead i'll think in larger timeframes. 9 years til the olympics. 2 to finish my masters degree. 27 til the rest of the world is carbon negative like tasmania and bhutan. what can i do in each of these timeframes? and how can i prioritise it?

as i coax my brain slowly out of fight or flight, as i put my pencils and watercolours and maps to annotate out on the table in front of me and say 'take your time, but you're allowed to do what you love' i know the places that have marked on my soul stand out to me. south east queensland right out to the bay. western sydney and bringing dignity to our second cbd, parramatta. queenstown tasmania, for some reason. the murray-darling basin as a whole, gundagai and the murrumbidgee at its heart. the red dirt centre of this great land and all the peoples and cultures it holds. i can hold all of their perspectives. i can train my intuition to find out all of their needs. i can put myself into 26 million pairs of shoes and decorate the lands and i can do it respectfully and lovingly like i'm tattooing my own skin because it might as well be. tattoo it with the needs of all of us and all who have gone before. blueprints of functionality, functionality we don't have, and then meet all 26 million souls (okay, i probably only need 2 million if we're starting from brisbane) and say to them, would you dream this dream with me? will you imagine this lifestyle where you're less burdened? can you be a part of simply talking about it, because that's how we're going to make it happen? can you improve it, make it better, make it yours, knowing that when you do it imprints itself on your heart a little more, you feel a part of it? and then we're all part of it. it takes years, but it can happen.

so i guess i've got my life's work cut out for me, and i'm so fucking glad i could figure this out from something that has been frustrating me to no end, because 'you can't change it' doesn't work for me unless you switch it out like a child's toy for something more big and exciting that i can change instead. fuck you, conformity. i found what it can be for me. a dream so big it doesn't matter if i can only do some of it--and who says i have to limit myself to australia?

#urban design #personal mental health tag #silver bridges #urban planning #sustainable transport #sustainable lifestyles #sustainable development goals #socio hydrology #neurodivergence #not to mention climate change mitigation

[tiredmilkshake]

I started my relisten of Camp Here and There and now that i made it true the first two episode here are all the notes i made:

episode 1

Trauma dumping goes hard from the stard. Good job Sydney.

Camp Here and There is defnitly NOT OSHA approved

"maybe a little overbareing when shareing his feelings" -sydney (about the elefant man) YOU ARE ONE TO TALK SIR

The Elefant man is such an obvious allegory for medical malpractice and unconsentional drugging holy shit

worms munch munch

Jedidiah emmidiately suggesting the elefant man to be a hallucination from sydney is heavy when considering everything he has done

episode 2

the penguins are NOT the ones violateing health codes in that kitchen sydney

The penguins commited multiple war crimes under the Geneva Convention

Bread and butter are not vegan????

#camp here and there #chnt

[zonedelicious]

EchoVN analysis thingy

This will be a quick analysis of the furry visual novel Echo which will obviously contain spoilers. This is my own personal interpretation of the narrative and shouldn't be taken as factual. I must also state that I am not sexually interested in any of the characters, so this will be an asexual reading of sorts.

Echo to me is a story about mental illness and how it affects people. All 6 of the main characters are suffering mentally and that has affected their relationships with each other. Of course there is the paranormal entities that exist within the town of Echo. Our characters are one small part of a greater messed up world.

When seeing how people talk about the characters it is very similar how people discuss mental illness in real life. That is villainising it. With no offense to anyone in particular, there is often a hatred towards these characters that feels personal and that hatred comes from ableism. Thinking that none of these characters deserve happiness, that they're inherently bad, or that they're psychotic, it's all ableist reaction. And maybe that's intentional. Because Echo is a game that makes you feel uncomfortable. And maybe it's trying to make you question your own biases.

If there's one character that could potentially represent this best it is Sydney. The kid that drowned. Who's often portrayed as a cruel and even demonic kid. Some say he's even the one behind all the demonic entities. You could say he's a bad person. Right? But that would be wrong. Because Sydney being a bad person is a lie. A lie Chase made up.

Chase is an unreliable narrator who throughout the game is often seen lying and intentionally twisting the truth. It is his coping mechanism. He intentionally exaggerated Syd's bad moments and lies about Syd's death, to cope with the fact that he was the one who killed him. Chase as well as TJ had buried their memories of the event due to how traumatic it was for them and avoid thinking a out Syndey at all. In Flynn's route we even see Syd as a very friendly kid. It was only after his father's death that he grew distant from the others, because they judged him. Sydney was not a monster. He was simply another kid. Anyone could have taken his place. Just like Chase, the player frames Sydney as a bad person. You would expect him to be bad. Especially when being aware of common horror tropes of a vengeful ghost. But of course that never happens. Sydney probably has even forgiven Chase from what Micha says in Jenna's route. So what's the message then, that Chase is the bad guy? Well you would think that of course, but that's also false.

Chase is a mentally unwell person. He has been possessed for so long that he doesn't even know who he is. He lies and manipulates people because he is emotionally detached from everything. Does that makes him evil? No. He's simply a person. He does shit things. He has mental issues he can't control. This of course is shown by him literally being possessed by multiple ghosts, that also represent real world mental health issues. In TJ's route he is basically no longer in control of his own body according to Sam. He is a puppet. And that doesn't excuse his actions entirely. But it needs to be understood that he and everyone else in the game are suffering from serious mental health issues, and in the real world that means they are unstable and not fully in control of their own actions. So while yes technically a demon possessed Chase killed Sydney and Flynn. It was also a metaphor for how mental illness can cause you to do things you do not want to do.

Carl could get a job and go to college and be the best student and get all the girls and be happy. But that's not what's it like when your anxiety is so bad you start having panic attacks constantly.

TJ could just man up and be a badass. But how can you expect a 19 year old to change like that when they've been emotionally stunted due to trauma.

Trauma, depression, anxiety etc. It is all fucking painful, it fucks you up, and you can't function because of it. I relate with all these characters because I felt it too. I lost a friend and I've quit college and I had anger issues and people treated me like I was crazy. Probably shouldn't be personal on a furry post but I need to emphasize that this shit is really fucking hard to deal with.

So to say these characters are irredeemable and inherently bad, it is simply cruel to me. Yes I do think someone like Leo deserves love and care and to be hugged. Not because I want to fuck him. But because I understand that this is a broken man who does not deserve the pain he is going through.

Leo is the reason I started writing this essay. Before I even started playing I saw how Leo is said to be the worst person ever. To the point that liking Leo is seen as "missing the point". Which I find strange because Leo is never portrayed in the game in this way.

"I can fix him" in reference to Leo is a meme for how an absurd of an idea it is, but the game itself says that he should go to therapy, which is the game saying Leo should get fixed in a way. And he does get fixed. In his good ending he refuses to get Chase's number. In Jenna's route he apologizes to Micha and takes responsibility for his past actions. Leo makes changes despite being mind fucked by the mental illness devil. So him being portrayed as evil I think goes against the actual message.

Most of what I said for Leo also applies to Jenna. Though the hate she gets is also heavily tied to the fact she's the only girl in the main group and this is a game aimed at gay males. Any action she takes is the wrong one. Funny as that's exactly how Jenna grew up. She was always screwed over no matter what and had to eventually leave home. And her cold personality is a defense mechanism a lot of women develop to protect themselves from men. Then maybe she was also a way for cis gay men to question their misogyny.

So what's the end message? That you should excuse bad actions? Not necessarily. I think it's important to differentiate when a person chooses to hurt someone and when they don't. With Flynn, his bad actions are often choices. He chooses to be distant and an asshole. Yet at the same time this is how he communicates. I do not think Flynn knows he's hurting Carl when he insults him. Is it wrong to do so? Yes. Does Flynn care about Carl and doesn't want to hurt him? I believe so. Is Leo selfish and obsessive? Yes. Does Leo genuinely care about his friends and wants to protect them? Also yes.

Again this is simply how mental illness is. Anger issues, personality disorders, etc. The way you act does not always reflect your intentions. I'm not an expert here and don't know the right terminology. All I know is that functioning as a normal human being is really fucking hard. It affects your life and your relationships. And most of the time it isn't your fault.

So that's what Echo means to me. It is about people who are suffering. Who make mistakes. Who are assholes. And who are still people despite all that. They aren't evil, or psychos, or monsters. They're just people. And I am happy that the game treats them as such the entire time. People with mental illnesses deserve happiness.

This was my first analysis post. Well it's a rant post really but those are the same things. I hope to make more posts like this in the future as I am bored and jobless and that's what you do on the internet. Thank you for reading everyone.

#Analysis #Zone analysis #echo vn #echo visual novel #furry visual novel #This is very long I am so sorry

[saint-ossifrage]

god i love sydney. i mean, first day on the job and this richie guy calls her "sweetheart", then "some broad", then yells at her boss (the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the US, who's now working at a sad, run-down sandwich place and he didn't give her a straight answer as to why...?), to which her boss yells "WE'RE OUT OF MONEY!" and soon after that, her boss (who looks like he's one bad day away from going balls to the wall insane) asks her if his hair is on fire so clearly, finances are an Issue(TM) and right after that they are awarded a fuckin C by the surprise health inspector.

...and she doesn't quit. in fact, she wants to be more involved. i love her. and her lil "extra credit" report on finances she typed up absolutely had a huge part in keeping the Beef afloat.

#the bear fx #the bear fx spoilers #the bear hulu #sydney adamu

[balanceoflightanddark]

What Dreams May Come

When it comes to Godzilla, probably one of the last things you would expect they would tackle is mental health. Admittedly with a series as long and storied as this one it's bound to have brushed with it somewhere down the line. Though even stranger still is where we find it: a cartoon.

Godzilla: The Series is the animated continuation of the 1998 film, following the adventures of the HEAT team and the last surviving Godzilla offspring as they handle a rising surge of kaiju around the world. Despite tying in with one of the lesser regarded films in the franchise (I personally had opinions on it that soften a lot over the years), it's highly regarded among G-fans, myself included, for being a bit more faithful and respectful of the source material. While there's plenty of episodes I could talk about, "What Dreams May Come" is a personal favorite of mine.

The premise of the episode is that a mysterious kaiju suddenly appears in New York City. It first attacks an apartment complex, then a bus depot, and finally a baseball stadium. As you can see, it's...pretty freaky even by the series standards. While most kaiju from Godzilla: The Series is some mutated form of animal, this thing neither looks nor behaves like anything natural. Especially as it almost vanishes into thin air when attacking, making it hard to track down or predict where it's going to pop up next. It's even difficult to fight: Godzilla's (or Zilla Jr.) atomic breath just makes it stronger and is able to go toe to toe with him in an even fight. Couple that with a really unnerving cackling like growl and a downright bone chilling shriek when enraged, and you've got a really unnerving opponent.

Turns out though, the Crackler's origin is actually linked with a man by the name of Sydney Walker, a resident of the apartment complex that was first attacked who's residence was remained untouched. The guy was relatively quiet despite living in a rather loud and disruptive complex, and had a nasty habit of getting electrical shocks as a result of his job as a technician at the bus depot. Randy, the team's tech expert, figures that Walker may have snapped and somehow mutated into the Crackler to get revenge.

He's...half true. The Crackler is ultimately tied to Walker...but the truth is a bit more complex.

Randy and Elsie, the team's specialist in kaiju behavior, track Walker down to a laboratory where he was admitted for insomnia. Despite Randy's initial belief that Walker was some kind of madman, the resident doctors actually show that...their patient was just some guy looking for help. They managed to put him to sleep via an experimental machine, but he hasn't come to. Importantly, a psych evaluation showed that despite his quiet exterior, Walker genuinely has massive amounts of suppressed rage both from his job and crappy home life. And being hooked up to a machine, his subconsciousness is actually the one that's manifesting the Crackler. He is not doing it knowingly.

Here's where the episode really shines. They make it clear that Walker is not a bad guy, but rather his inability to process his problems in a healthy way has led to a hateful subconsciousness has manifested as a literal monster. You figure that waking him up would cause it to disappear, but being conscious actually makes the Crackler go completely berserk, attacking everything in sight. Since his subconsciousness is suppressed again, it's not able to direct Walker's inner rage. Hell, Walker doesn't even know he's connected to the Crackler and gets pretty distressed when Randy drills him for answers.

Thing is, Walker getting distressed and angry finally lets his inner rage come to the surface, which actually weakens the Crackler since its power is being redirected. Cue Randy doing everything he can to piss Walker off, much to the protest of the doctors, which results in an absolute breakdown from Walker who starts ranting at basically everything in his life. It...actually works. With his inner rage finally released, the Crackler is weakened enough for Godzilla to deliver the coup de grace. And when all is said and done, Randy's the one to gently calm Walker down and tell him it's all over.

What makes this episode great was...well, how well it addressed the core issues. Rage and anger can't just be suppressed, it'll manifest itself in some other way, often more toxic and harmful than just being mad. Neither is Walker a bad guy. Remember, he isn't even aware of what his subconscious is thinking and doing. The narrative treats him like a person as opposed to a monster. And the Crackler is ultimately defeated once that anger is finally released. Even if it's not pleasant and makes him feel like crap, it's implied he'll be able to better process what he's feeling instead of bottling it in all at once.

It's not a case of whether or not you feel angry. It's how you are able to deal and process it that affects who you are. You can say the same with all intense emotions. As somebody who has suppressed his feelings because he didn't want to be a burden, "What Dreams May Come" is a pretty impactful episode in an underrated series. And it's definitely a highlight for the cartoon as a whole in my opinion.

#godzilla #godzilla the series #zilla #zilla jr #the crackler #kaiju #cartoon #mental health #gojira

[totally-profesional]

Holy moly guacamole Camp Here and There and is INSANE WHAT THE HELL this thing is so good and intriguing??? If you haven't watch it you should, because it deserve more fans (the good kind)

Shitty Summary : tells the story of Sydney, a co-nurse in the summer camp Camp Here and There. located in Ohio, in a universe where the weird and strange are the norms and apocalypse happen regularly apparently(oh and magic also exist). Told in the form of the camp announcement and Sydney's personal recording on a ghost recorder he's keeping

We'll hears about the daily activities in the camp, the strange occurrence that happens, a look into the counselors relationship, Sydney's ever depleting mental health and special secrets you should find out yourself

Anyway here's more reason to listen

The music is a bop, a banger, a jam. its Will Wood's for goodness sake (if carnival and circus themed music is up your alley congrats)

The characters are all hella interesting and entertaining in their own way (Sydney my beloved) i love adore hate and loath you, pink elephant man <3

Interesting humor and comedy, Its WTNV abd Gravity Falls thrown into a mix with its own creative and unique idea (Sydney definetly idolize Cecil)

The relationship? Its complicated (loving Joshua and Yvonne as a duo tho <3)

The plot???? See for yourself, dont search or look at anymore spoilers. Go and watch it as blind as you can, please trust me when i said it feel way better to find out yourself, hell even i regret being careless and spoil myself (no fun for me :[ )

I hope this convince you to watch Camp Here and There, its on YouTube and spotify (let me know if there's other place). Please check it out, it's so worth it

Other people would do better job at this because I suck at talking especially recommending, but if this post convinced you then im glad and happy to hear that!

#camp here & there #camp here and there #chnt #sydney sargent #podcast #recommendation #long post #oof #Charlotte's shitty summary for piece of media she likes #do you know how hard it is to write when your phone screen touch is acting funky #tumblr #podcast recommendations #wtnv #if you like wtnvc you will like this #im begging #please watch it #please watch this

[yezzyyae]

I hate Sydney Adamu so much I made my mom stay up 12am this morning so I can explain everything I hate about it! I really hate Sydney I hate how ppl make her out to be this savior or how she makes Carmy better which the fuck she don’t! Carmy did not need help from Sydney he was grieving his relationship with Mickey & his suicide. Dealing with “The Beef” which is a family restaurant but Sydney came in being this arrogant person that Carmy needed her help! Carmy didn’t need help with the menu or the design of the restaurant. I don’t know why Sydney is even there acting like he needs to call her for every approval. Only Natalie & Jimmy & Carmy needs to communicate because they are the ones with the money. Not Sydney talking about she wants a “star” fuck her! Well go open your own restaurant Sydney & get your star ⭐️ fucking weirdo! Carmy needs to put his foot down & fire Sydney she can’t handle pressure, she oversteps Carmy’s boundaries(involving Claire), and she is not respectful to Richie at all! I don’t root for Sydney at all & I am a 34 y/o BLACK WOMAN FROM Philadelphia! Sydney is not a good person she is hurt that’s why she came in the restaurant hurting Richie & even hurting Carmy by putting pressure on him. Smh she don’t respect anyone’s boundaries but want hers respected! And Sydney can’t cook I stand by it name one meal she made that everybody liked smh not one time!

Carmy don’t even know she stalked his whole career & life! She lied when she was asked “why she want to work there” she is a creepy weirdo! Even her not telling Carmy that her mom is dead when she was talking about the annual dinner her & her father have is soo weird! Like Sydney wtf why imply that your mother is still alive she is a weirdo! I hate her character and everything she stand for smh 2 seasons of a headache!

And her vomiting 🤮 at the end of season 2 episode 10 better for her health and not some anxiety effect cause that’s just corny! She better be sick & not like anxiety took over her so much that night when she didn’t do anything but watch everything Carmy did which is not her job. Sydney is the CDC so that means Carmy can be anywhere do anything he wants but she have to have control of the restaurant w/out being a weirdo and questioning Carmy about why he going to Claire’s table 😡that made me soo pissed and when he told her to refire the “7 fishes” she argued back with him & he said “I’m sorry” 1st not her but 5 mins before she was arguing with Tina and didn’t think Tina should say anything back to her & do what she say. I am so confused how Sydney think Carmy can’t confront her or challenged esp in the kitchen it’s disrespectful to him & it’s weird. Every woman is not always correct I’m tired of them trying to make Sydney like she is the only sane person! She is disrespectful to Carmy esp in the kitchen she always saying something back always!

Carmy is one of the best chefs in the world and Sydney only had a catering business & she is impatient & green! I don’t understand why ppl think Carmy needs Sydney to be better. Smh it’s disrespectful to Carmy’s skills and accomplishments! Carmy got stuck in the walk in because he was arguing with Sydney then he had to say “I’m sorry” 1st. Smh which is not fair because when Carmy say something in the kitchen nobody should challenge him esp NOT FUCKING SYDNEY!

Sydney have no respect for Carmy! Sydney knows she can take advantage of Carmy. Smh Carmy deserves better his mind is already fragile. Sydney never gave him a hug or said “I’m sorry about your loss” so how is everybody so in love with Sydney. And Carmy had every right to scream & yell at Sydney for not being prepared & forgetting about the tab on the “pre-order” option! Sydney never accepts responsibility for her actions it’s annoying! Now a person can stab a person at work because Sydney is black which is bullshit because Carmy sent Richie to help make the sauce and Sydney being a bitch that she is & mad that Carmy finally saw her mistake took it out on Richie which is fucked up but nobody seems to see that!

#the bear #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto #richie x sydney #sydcarmy #anti Sydney x Carmy #carmy x sydney #CarmyisnotinlovewithSydney #I hate Sydney so much

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Bernard Lane

Published: Jul 21, 2023

A rising star of Australia’s centre-right Liberal Party, Claire Chandler, has called for an independent expert inquiry into medicalised gender change for minors.

Senator Chandler suggests a national inquiry into the evidence for treatment of young patients diagnosed with gender dysphoria could be modelled on England’s independent review led by paediatrician Dr. Hilary Cass following controversy over the London-based Tavistock gender clinic.

In an interview with GCN, Senator Chandler said: “We know that in Australia there has been a huge explosion in the number of young children accessing care at gender clinics.

“We don’t necessarily know exactly how all of these children are being treated, whether or not the way they are being treated is beneficial for their circumstances, whether or not it’s having good clinical outcomes.”

The number of minors enrolled in state children’s hospital gender clinics rose from less than 500 in 2016 to more than 2,000 in 2021, with the biggest caseloads in the states of Victoria and Queensland.

In Australia’s federation, the states deliver health while also drawing on federal funding; states pay for puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones enjoy federal subsidy.

Chart: Demand surges at Australia’s gender dysphoria clinics in children’s hospitals

[ The green line shows patient enrolments; orange tracks the number of children on puberty blockers; purple indicates the number on cross-sex hormones. Data was obtained under freedom of information law. It is not clear if these figures for hormonal treatment include prescriptions filled outside the hospital. Credit: Dr. Dianna Kenny ]

Europe’s turn to caution

Senator Chandler cited official findings in Finland, Sweden and England that the puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones given by gender clinics internationally are based on very weak evidence and carry risks of harm and troubling uncertainties.

In each country, the recent policy advice is to restrict access to these hormonal treatments for minors, especially puberty blockers, which England’s National Health Service will confine to clinical trials as an experimental intervention.

Senator Chandler has been raising concerns for more than two years about the risks to vulnerable children from invasive medical treatments and the lack of good public data on the operation of gender clinics.

In the last few months, an Australian child and adolescent psychiatrist Dr. Jillian Spencer has become a rallying point for growing clinical disquiet over the dogmatic “gender-affirming” treatment model and its poorly evidenced hormonal and surgical interventions.

She went public with her criticism of the American-influenced gender-affirming treatment model after she was stood down from her job as a senior staff specialist at a public children’s hospital in Queensland; she was reportedly accused of “transphobia” after an interaction with a young patient from the gender clinic.

Dr. Spencer has argued that the gender-affirming model forces clinicians to go along with the social and medical transition of children despite the evidence base not showing that the benefits outweigh the risks and harms.

“It is incredibly distressing to be forced into harming other people’s children, or otherwise face potential loss of one’s career, livelihood or to be cast out of the workplace, as has happened to me,” she said at a Sydney women’s forum last month.

Earlier this month Dr. Spencer began circulating a petition for health practitioners who want an independent inquiry “to guide Australian doctors in what treatments for children are safe to be delivered, at what age and under what conditions.”

By last night, she had signatures from 36 child psychiatrists, 33 adult psychiatrists, 22 general practitioners and 10 paediatricians straddling all six states, albeit mostly concentrated in the three eastern states of Queensland, New South Wales and Victoria.

“Sadly, lots of people have contacted me to say they’re too scared to give their details,” Dr. Spencer said.

In September 2019, after The Australian newspaper began subjecting gender clinics to scrutiny, doctors launched an online petition for a parliamentary inquiry as requested by professor of paediatrics Dr. John Whitehall. They collected 260 names in three and a half days before a spam attack by activists forced closure of the petition. The signatories included 20 professors or associate professors, 14 paediatricians, 20 psychiatrists (nine of them child psychiatrists), and “many other doctors with a shared concern about the epidemic of childhood gender dysphoria and the lack of scientific basis for its current treatment”, organisers said.

Exposure

This week, the medical indemnity fund MDA National, which on July 1 cut back its coverage of private doctors involved in risky medicalised gender change for minors, has noted the renewed push for an inquiry in Australia.

“We understand that there is a growing number of professionals and politicians requesting an urgent review of the research to ensure that children and adolescents presenting with gender dysphoria and incongruence have the very best medical care,” MDA National’s spokeswoman told GCN.

She was responding to a decision by the Australian Medical Students’ Association (AMSA) to disaffiliate from MDA National on the grounds that its July 1 policy change would reduce the supply of youth gender medicine. AMSA’s statement claimed that gender-affirming treatment was based on “high-quality evidence” but did not reply when asked for references.

MDA National said it was disappointed at AMSA’s decision—the insurer had spon.sored association events—but stressed that its main duty was to protect its doctor-members from “the risk of potentially high-value claims.”

The spokeswoman said the fund would “continue to monitor the legal landscape of this area of emerging risk and will update our policy coverage to reflect any changes in medico-legal risk as required in the future.”

Litigation by regretful detransitioners has begun in Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom and the United States.

“[The health professional defendants] lied when they told Prisha she was actually a boy; they lied when they told her that injecting testosterone into her body would solve her numerous, profound mental and psychological health problems; and they lied when they told her about the nature and effects of ‘breast reduction’ surgery, which in actuality was a surgery to remove her healthy breasts and render her incapable of nursing a child (should she even be able to conceive one, which, due to her taking testosterone for years, may not be possible)”—court complaint of 25-year-old detransitioner Prisha Mosley, North Carolina, U.S.,17 July 2023

Evidence rules

This week Australia’s National Association of Practising Psychiatrists (NAPP)—which in 2020 issued a cautious, less medicalised policy on managing youth gender dysphoria—restated its view that a proper inquiry into gender clinics is needed.

“We support an objective national inquiry headed by a panel of experts that allows all sides of the debate to be expressed,” NAPP president Dr. Philip Morris told GCN.

“But the bottom line is that the inquiry must be based on the evidence base, not opinion.”

The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists, a larger group than the NAPP, is expected to publish its updated position statement on gender dysphoria “later this year”, the president Dr. Elizabeth Moore has told members.

In 2021, the college adopted a more cautious policy, noting the “paucity of quality evidence” on treatment outcomes and acknowledging that “evidence and professional opinion is divided as to whether an affirmative approach should be taken in relation to treatment of transgender children or whether other approaches are more appropriate.”

The policy was denounced as “inappropriate and harmful” by a group of Australian and New Zealand advocates of the gender-affirming way.

From March-September 2019 the college’s LGBT mental health policy had explicitly endorsed the gender-affirming treatment guidelines promoted as “Australian standards of care” by the Royal Children’s Hospital Melbourne, which is home to the country’s most influential gender clinic. Those guidelines have come under intense scrutiny.

Video: Senator Chandler denounces inquiries that went nowhere

In the hunt

After critical coverage of gender clinics began in mid-2019 in The Australian, the then health minister Greg Hunt asked the Royal Australasian College of Physicians (RACP) to conduct a review.

In March 2020 the RACP sent Mr. Hunt a four-page letter of advice. It did not describe gender clinic medical treatments, nor discuss their risks; there was no mention of less invasive treatment options.

Instead, the RACP asserted that the national inquiry being sought by some health professionals “would further harm vulnerable patients and their families through increased media and public attention.” No evidence was offered for this claim.

It emerged that the RACP, which trains paediatricians, had previously lobbied for cheaper, quicker access to the medical treatments it was called upon to evaluate for Mr. Hunt. The RACP did not reply when asked at the time if it had a conflict of interest.

Mr. Hunt then gave public assurances that a federal-state body of health officials—the Health Chief Executives Forum—would deliver a new, uniform model of clinical governance across Australia’s gender clinics and a common system for proper data collection. Nothing appears to have come of this.

GCN understands that in response to recent questions from members, the RACP has—

claimed that the Health Chief Executives Forum has not responded to its request for an update on the promised progress towards a national approach to gender clinics acknowledged that its 2020 advice to Mr. Hunt “did not comment on specific clinical issues such as the use of puberty blockers and other treatments” conceded that much has happened in the field of gender dysphoria in Australia and internationally but says it has no plans to update the advice it gave to Mr. Hunt stated that it does not intend to develop clinical guidelines or position statements on the treatment of gender dysphoria

Against this background, Senator Chandler said an expert inquiry independent of government was “clearly required to lay the facts on the table and stop the buck-passing and the culture of silencing that everybody from parents to medical professionals to journalists have experienced and have been targeted with in this debate.”

She said the inquiry would also have to be independent of “the youth gender industry.”

“We can’t be in a situation where the [gender clinic] industry, which has in effect created its own rules, is then put into a position of reviewing those rules,” she said.

“And [the inquiry] must be run in a very transparent and evidence-based way that takes into account some of those international findings that we’ve seen in other jurisdictions [such as Finland, Sweden and England.]”

In the Australian Senate’s next sittings, starting on July 31, there is expected to be a vote on a motion for a committee inquiry into youth gender medicine.

Moved last month by Senator Pauline Hanson of the populist-right One Nation Party, the motion urges inquiry into questions including—

“whether children are being rushed into gender reassignment treatment” “whether psychiatrists such as Dr. Jillian Spencer … who question the use of puberty blockers without an appropriate mental health assessment are being silenced” “whether Australia should follow the United Kingdom and many European countries in adopting a more cautious approach to the prescription of puberty blocking drugs, amid concerns the evidence base for their efficacy is lacking” “whether the Commonwealth should take a greater oversight and regulatory role in the prescription of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones to children following the admission from the federal government that it has no idea how widely the drugs are being prescribed off-label for gender dysphoria”

Asked about this proposal, Senator Chandler said a parliamentary committee inquiry would be better than no inquiry at all, but the numbers in the Senate would not favour an independent inquiry, and in any case, it would be better for an inquiry to be “removed from politics, if possible.”

The ruling centre-left Labor Party (with 26 of the total 76 senators) is seen as uncritically committed to the gender-affirming model, while the Australian Greens, with 11 senators, have lobbied for a taxpayer-funded expansion of these medical treatments.

The Liberal-National opposition, with 31 senators, will have a conscience vote on Ms Hanson’s motion. One Nation has two senators.

Note: GCN sought comment from federal Health Minister Mark Butler and Assistant Minister for Mental Health and Suicide Prevention Emma McBride

--

Australia makes awkward moves in the same direction as the UK and other European countries.

Interesting that the medical side of is being - at least partly - driven by the medical insurance industry; that doctors who subject patients to risky medical experiments will not be professionally protected when the patient comes back and sues. Doctors themselves might be able to deny the results of evidence reviews, but their insurers damn well won't. It's surprising the US, a much more litigious country, hasn't done more of this.

Also notable that you can tell at a glance which institutions have been ideologically compromised. The claim that there is "high-quality evidence" to support self-diagnosis and self-prescription of treatment is an ideological one. But they're never in favor of systematic reviews, for some reason. If what they're doing is so scientifically grounded, you'd think they'd be pushing to resolve this once and for all. They never do.

#Claire Chandler #Bernard Lane #Gender Clinic News #gender ideology #queer theory #gender affirming #gender affirming treatment #gender affirming care #affirmation model #medical malpractice #poor evidence #weak evidence #medical scandal #medical corruption #genderwang #sex trait modification #religion is a mental illness