#Nurses Core Competencies

[bonesvoid]

Risky Business

word count: 5.5k

contains: modern/college au, no preestablished romantic relationships (viktor and reader are besties that torment jayce /hj), frat bro/lacrosse player!jayce, honors student!viktor, art kid!reader, switch!jayce, dom!viktor, switch!reader, bottom!jayce, top!viktor, alcohol, weed, drug use, stoner!viktor & stoner!reader, oral sex (blowjob & pussy eat), anal sex, cock milking, safe sex & proper use of lube!!! (wrap it before you tap it & never do anal without lube), doggy style, too many mentions of prostate/cock/dick/pussy/cunt, praise kink, corruption kink, virgin!jayce, teasing, praise, pet names (golden boy/darling/sweetheart/baby), vaginal sex, somewhat animalistic/rough sex, we swallow not spit, cervix bruising, multiple orgasms, jayce aims to please, jayce’s cock is too powerful, lightweight!jayce (bro can't handle the weed), viktor and reader are menaces, one off mention of public sex, humiliation if you squint

summary: jayce embarks on a spiritual journey of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll with the help of his two hottest classmates at his fraternity's risky business themed party.

a/n: shoutout to this fic's beta reader @zevrra <3 they're awesome and write amazing arcane content!

Stale booze, pungent smoke from loosely rolled joints, and people making out in every room of the house are the trifecta of a typical frat house party. Yet, things have been turned up to a hundred and fifty for Greek Week’s Battle of the Greeks, each frat and sorority house on the Row competing to be the Greek Life chapter. For Piltover University’s Sigma Phi Delta, Greek Week means maintaining their incumbent title. 

Jayce, the newest recruit and brother, has the most unfortunate task for the party: keeping drunken idiots from destroying every inch of the frat house. Not that he minds, of course! Despite his charming looks and demeanor, Jayce Talis despises parties. Sure, a party of twenty people or less is fine, but a party at this level of insanity? Pure nightmare fuel.

To make matters worse for poor Jayce, someone from Sigma Phi Delta (he has his suspicion of who was responsible, a certain snobby blonde named Allira Salo) had suggested Risky Business as the theme for this year’s Battle of the Greeks. Now, here’s Jayce, standing by the drinks table in nothing but grey boxers, crew socks, and the longest button down he could find. D.M.S.R. by Prince plays over the speakers, a staple from the movie and the perfect party song.

Jayce nurses a Red Solo cup of cheap liquor in his hands, but he hadn’t taken a single sip. Whenever a frat brother or chatty drunk girl would come up to him, Jayce would feign drinking and laugh like a gleeful drunkard, playing along in the hopes they would skitter away to their next victim.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?” someone shouts to him over the loud beat of the funk track. Jayce looks down–he has to look down at everyone on the campus–and sees you, a classmate from his ART 106 class, Drawing for Non-Majors. Everyone pursuing a degree at Piltover University is required to take a “Creativity and Creative Development” class as part of their core curriculum. Drawing for Non-Majors happens to be the only art Jayce believes he could net an easy ‘A’ in. 

“How could you tell?” he yells back, as the music switches to The Dream is Always the Same, a somewhat psychedelic song. You tease the rim of your cup, bubbling lemon-lime soda inside, “You’re the least giddy frat boy at the party.”

Jayce eyes the way you guide your manicured finger around the cup and has to tear away his gaze to answer, “Yeah, makes sense. I got tasked with ‘drunk dumbass’ duty, so it’s better to be sober if some ass tries to pick a fight and break something.”

You give a nod and hold up your cup to Jayce, “Care for some Sprite then?”

Jayce’s eyes widen at your offer, “But you,” he blinks his surprise away, “That’s your drink.”

“Sharing is caring,” you chuckle. 

Jayce grabs the cup from you and examines it; never has he taken an already consumed drink from someone else, nonetheless from a cute girl like you. It’s like an indirect kiss! Oh, Jayce Talis–the cheesy romantic–is not one to kiss and tell, but he could count on one hand how many people he has kissed. Now or never. Jayce takes a timid sip from the cup and relishes in the refreshing taste, “Oh God, I needed that.”

“Good!” you take the cup back and down the rest of it. Now, this is an indirect kiss! Jayce’s tanned cheeks warm up at the realization and he fans himself with his free hand. Seeing his overheated face, you tilt your head and ask, “Too hot? Wanna come with me to a cooler spot?”

“Oh! Uh,” the frat boy runs through the possible outcomes if he does or doesn’t follow you. What if a fight happens while he’s occupied? What if you think he’s a bummer for not joining you? What if– “You don’t have to,” you add on and shrug, “If you don’t wanna.”

“No!” he exclaims, a bit too loud. Jayce quickly masks his enthusiasm with a fake cough, “Lead the way,” he flashes you his ‘Golden Boy’ smile. Please don’t think I’m an inexperienced loser.

“Cool,” you toss your cup in the nearby trash can and grab Jayce by the wrist, barely able to wrap your whole hand around it. Through the mobs of partying sorority girls, people cheering on a frat brother’s keg stand, and folks getting way too into dancing, you lead Jayce outside to the back of the frat house. A few party attendees are lounging about in the backyard, some of which are couples making out or people exchanging joints. 

“Viktor!” you call out. Sitting around some abandoned lawn chairs, a thin man with shaggy shoulder-length hair and a flannel perks up. He waves the two of you over and you each find a chair to occupy. Jayce examines the stickers on Viktor’s cane.

“Hey,” Viktor greets you both, his accent rich and thick.

“H- Hey,” Jayce attempts to be nonchalant, but fails miserably when his baritone voice cracks into soprano range. He recognizes Viktor from many of his engineering classes, but he never had the opportunity to chat one on one with him. Yet, judging by the hordes of engineering students seeking the cane user out for tutoring, Jayce doesn’t want to come off as needing such assistance–well, some assistance would be appreciated–or that he would use Viktor for it.

“Cute,” Viktor lets out a deep chuckle, honey amber eyes glowing almost eerily under the full moon’s light, “The Golden Boy’s a bit shy, huh?” 

“Oh, for sure,” you snort. Jayce pouts and averts his eyes from the two of you, only to have you tilt his chin back up with the tip of your finger, “We only tease in good faith,” you coo, “I take it that you know Jayce, Vik?”

“Everyone does,” he answers. Jayce pouts again and Viktor stifles back a laugh, “Also he’s my classmate in about half of my classes,” the pretty haired–Pretty haired?! Jayce, get it together!–boy leans closer and Jayce can smell the familiar stink of weed on his flannel, “I thoroughly enjoyed seeing your Rube Goldberg machine unfold during our class with Professor Hemingdinger.”

“Haha, yeah, that machine,” the engineering student cringes. You raise your eyebrows at the exchange, “Oh no, what happened?”

“The concept was ingenious, I must say,” states Viktor, “A creative way to dispense a cup of coffee for our dear professor,” Jayce buries his face into his sleeves of his varsity jacket, as Viktor continues, “However, Jayce miscalculated the placement of the coffee pot.”

“Don’t tell me,” your cheeks puff up to hold back your laughter. 

“Cue our poor professor drenched in coffee!” the cane user laughs. You break and join in, boisterous laughter ringing through Jayce’s ears. The frat boy peers up at the exchange and comments, “At- At least, it was lukewarm coffee…”

“Thank God,” you calm down from your laughing fit, “If it was any warmer, I’m afraid that you would have been sued,” Viktor nods along in agreement. Jayce runs his large, veiny hands through his clean-cut hair, “Okay, okay. Enough is enough.”

“Sorry,” you throw an arm around Jayce’s shoulders and pull him close, the scent of your strawberry perfume strong and intoxicating to the frat boy, “We can make it up to you, if you want.”

“How so?” he inquires.

You give Viktor a wink and he returns it with a thumbs up. Viktor snatches his worn out satchel from the leaf-covered ground and rummages through its content. It takes a moment or two before Viktor procures the object of desire, a baggie of green flowery clumps.

“Please tell me that’s oregano,” Jayce pleads.

“Nope,” the cane user confirms, “One hundred percent pure marijuana.”

“Don’t worry! Vik has a med card, so it’s like… totally legal,” you reassure Jayce with a pat on the cheek. Jayce bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying something utterly stupid, “Are you sure it’s okay? We won’t get in trouble?” Okay, nevermind, he does say something utterly stupid.

“As long as you’re not a narc,” replies Viktor. He sets the baggie down and pulls a few more items from his satchel: rolling paper, filter paper, and a grinder, “Watch the master at work,” 

Viktor grinds up a clump of flower; once properly grounded up to his liking, he places the filter paper on one end of the rolling paper, followed by the flower. He rolls it up flawlessly and seals it, producing a perfectly made joint, before making two more joints.

“Here,” he holds out a joint to Jayce. With shaky hands, Jayce accepts the joint with visible hesitation, almost dropping in the process. You squeeze his shoulder and murmur, “Don’t worry, the first time can be scary, but we can help you.”

“How?” questions Jayce. A sparkle of mischief flickers in your eyes, “Lemme show you,” you hop off your lawn chair and approach Viktor. You plop down on his lap and throw your legs over the arm of the chair, twirling a strand of Viktor’s tousled locks, “Light me up, baby.”

Viktor pulls out a silver lighter from his jeans pocket and you place the joint between your lips, letting it dangle. Jayce watches with bated breath, as Viktor flicks the lighter open and holds the flame by your joint. Once lit, you take a drag of it and inhale some of the smoke. You pull the joint out, cheeks puffed out with smoke, and beckon Viktor to come closer. Leaning in, you press your lips against Viktor’s and exhale, allowing the thinner man to consume the rest of the smoke, as the two of you kiss. 

Jayce gawks at the sight of you making out, the way you tug at Viktor’s hair and the way he grips at your sides stirs something inside the frat boy, “And that’s called shotgunning!” you finish the kiss up and inform Jayce, “Just make sure you part your lips before I shotgun you, or else we’ll waste some good smoke,” you offer him a lopsided smile, “Wanna give it a try?”

“Sure,” he nods. You move from Viktor’s lap and onto Jayce’s, the joint still lit in your hand. Jayce swallows any fear away, as you lay the joint between your lips and breathe in the smoke, the lit end lighting up with the inhalation. You pass the joint over to Viktor for him to hold and he steals a few hits, as you moved closer and closer and–

Jayce’s lips connect with yours and he parts them just enough for you to push smoke into his mouth. It travels down his throat and into his lungs, burning and irritating. Jayce breaks away from the kiss to cough, spluttering out hot smoke. You rub his back while he hacks up a lung, “Yikes, yeah, that happens a lot to beginners.” 

“Have some water,” Viktor passes off his water bottle and Jayce snatches it, drinking up all the liquid like a dehydrated man crawling through the Sahara Desert. He coughs a bit more up and finally settles down, “When does this-” he cuts himself off, as a fuzzy feeling suddenly clouds his mind. Jayce closes his eyes, then opens them, and then closes them again, “Wow,” he giggles, “Feels nice…”

“Please tell me that he didn’t just get high off one hit,” begs Viktor.

“I think he got high off one hit,” you answer. You prepare yourself to disembark from Jayce’s lap, but stop yourself, “Jayce,” he looks at you with wide eyes, “Yeah?”

“Why are you hard?” you question him. 

Jayce’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets at your inquiry. He jerks his head down and sees his predicament, a noticeable tent in his boxers. His face turns a deep shade or crimson red, “N- No, fuck, I’m so so so sorry- I don’t know why-” 

You place a finger against his lips to shush, “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll take care of you,” you whisper into his ear and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I know for a fact that you find me and Viktor very attractive, mhm? I saw the way you looked at us while we kissed.”

“And so what if I do?” the frat boy retorts, puffing out his chest in an effort to appear manly and confident. Yet, his resolve crumbles the moment you press your chest up against his torso, the fabric of your shirts being the only barrier, “We find you very attractive, too.”

Between the haze dulling his brain and the lustful stares of two stunning individuals on him, Jayce Talis caves in and whimpers to you, “Please, take care of me.”

“Good boy,” you peck him on the lips, “Show us the way to your room.”

Like an obedient pup, Jayce rapidly nods and helps you off his lap. Viktor nearly chokes on his joint when he sees Jayce’s boner, “What the fuck, you’re huge,” and earns a slap to the back of the head from you, “Don’t announce it!” you hiss to him, “He’s ours.” 

Those two or so words send shivers down Jayce’s spine. He’s ours. All Jayce ends is to be wanted; his efforts on the lacrosse team, his performance in class, everything he does is motivated by his need to be praised. He squeezes himself between you and Viktor in a line as a makeshift hiding spot for his boner and guides the two of you back inside the frat house. You three weave and dodge various obstacles, such as neglected soda cans and a sorority girl threatening to puke on you. Upstairs, a few people are scattered about the hallway, but none pay any mind to you all. You make your way to Jayce’s room and he opens the door, allowing you and Viktor to enter.

Jayce’s room is somewhat stereotypical of an athletic frat boy with messy bedsheets and posters of famous athletes on his wall. However, he has a few so-called nerdy things in his room, including a mechanical model of the Solar System and a Lego-built U.S.S Enterprise from Star Trek. You make yourself comfortable on Jayce’s bed while Viktor borrows the desk chair and Jayce sits on the floor. 

“Sooooooo…” the lacrosse player twiddles his thumbs, “How do we fix this?”

“What do you mean?” Viktor scoffs, “Haven’t you gotten a blowjob or a handjob before?”

Jayce’s silence speaks volumes and you connect the dots, “Oh. My. God. Jayce fucking Talis is a virgin.”

“No! I’m- well-” the virginal accused racks his brain to deny the allegations, “It’s- Ugh, okay, it’s true,” he confirms to you and Viktor, “It’s not that I have a vow of celibacy or anything, just that I wanted to save it for someone special.”

“It’s kinda cute,” you giggle softly while Viktor jokes, “And they say chivalry is dead. Good on you for defying frat bro stereotypes.”

“Are you gonna tease me all night or is one of you gonna choke on my fucking cock already?” Jayce’s filter went offline, the effects of weed taking more of an effect. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” answers Viktor. You blow him a ‘good luck’ kiss and get cozy for the show. Viktor rises from the chair and leads Jayce to the bed; he sits down next to you, now face level to Jayce’s pelvis, “Drop those boxers, Golden Boy.”

Jayce tugs down his boxers and haphazardly shakes them off his legs. Now free from its confinement, his cock bounces freely, on display for you and Viktor to admire. Viktor sizes up Jayce’s dick—as thick as his wrist and as long as one and a half pencils stacked—and mumble to himself, “Damn, this is a virgin killer.”

“Impressed?” Jayce strikes the Superman pose and smiles. Viktor wraps a hand around his cock and gives it a light tug, watching as Jayce’s cockiness vanishes in an instant, “Yeah. It’s pretty impressive,” Viktor lines his lips up to the top of Jayce’s dick and opens his mouth, carefully sliding him inside. A soft moan tumbles Jayce’s lips from the sensation, as Viktor’s hot and wet mouth costs his cock. Inch by inch, Viktor takes more and more of Jayce’s length until he gets all but an inch in, a small bulge pointing from under his Adam’s Apple. Testing the waters, Viktor goes agonizingly slow with the blowjob, taking his sweet time to pull back until only the tip is inside. 

“Please go faster,” Jayce whines. Viktor lets out a muffled chuckle, the vibration ever so pleasant against Jayce’s shaft, and picks up the pace. He bobs his head up and down the length of Jayce’s cock, occasionally running his tongue down the prominent vein underneath and twirling it around the mushroom tip. Combined with the weed, Jayce is experiencing pure bliss, as he jerks his hips forward and shoves his dick deeper down Viktor’s throat. The smaller man gags at the sudden change, but quickly recovers, letting Jayce fuck his throat. Jayce thrusts his pelvis forward and slams his cock deep inside Viktor, gripping the receiver’s shoulders for extra support. Spit leaks from Viktor’s mouth, his hooked nose smacking into Jayce’s well-trimmed pubes, as Jayce assaults his throat with his fat cock. 

“Oh, shit!” the lacrosse player grunts, “I think I’m gonna-” he doesn’t have time to warn Viktor before climaxing, shooting sticky hot cum down the other man’s throat. Once positive that Jayce had finished orgasming, Viktor unhinges himself from the taller man’s cock and coughs up some cum. He swipes it off his lips and licks it off his fingers, “Salty.”

“Did you swallow all of that?” you ask, eyes as big as saucers, “He came for- like- two whole minutes.”

“Spitters are quitters,” he jests in retort. You playfully smack his arm and turn your attention to Jayce, “How are you feeling?” 

“Amazing,” he pants, face flustered, “Just one issue, though.”

“What’s up?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“I’m still hard,” the frat bro points downward, his cock still hard as a rock. Viktor looks over at you and rasps, “Tapping you in.”

“More than happy to have my turn, take five to recover,” you tell Viktor. He leaves the bed and returns to the desk chair, massaging his throat. You focus in on Jayce and pull him onto the bed, “Ready to try some pussy?” you coo.

Eager, Jayce nods in response, his mouth salivating at the thought of eating you out. You obligate his desires and strip yourself of your jeans, leaving only your cherry red undies left, “Take them off and have a look.”

Jayce follows your command without question, pulling your panties down your thighs and off your legs. You spread your legs open and Jayce bears witness to his first ever not porn-related pussy. Some wetness spills from your slit and onto the bed, you’re simply drenched. He hooks his hands around your legs and pulls you closer to his face, inhaling the smell of your divine cunt. The scent alone sends Jayce into a needy state, rutting his weeping cock against the mattress for some form of relief. Yet, he wants—no, needs—to focus on the task at hand, pleasing you.

“Give it a try, I’ll guide you,” you inform Jayce. With a timid nod, the frat bro dives right in and licks a long stripe from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit. You shudder and curl your toes, as Jayce experiments with a variety of methods. He sucks on your clit, first gentle then hard, altering to see which one you like more. It seems that you prefer hard, taking sharp breaths whenever he sucks like so. Above, you rip off your T-shirt and bra, freeing your breasts. You gesture for Viktor to come over and he does, finding a suitable position before latching onto one of your tits. Sweet mewls escape your lips while your boys have their way with you, Jayce now confident enough to devour your cunt like an animal and Viktor groping at your unoccupied tit while he suckles the other. 

“Fuck!” you croak out a shaky moan, as the knot in your stomach snaps, releasing a wet wave onto Jayce’s mouth and face. He happily laps up your juices, consuming every ounce he possibly could. You give yourself a minute to recover, Viktor laying beside you and tracing miscellaneous shapes on your skin while Jayce rests his head on your thighs. 

“Good job, boys,” you announce. You give each man a tender kiss on the lips as a reward, “You two should make out with each other.”

“Okay!” Jayce cheerily complies while Viktor merely shrugs. Viktor takes your spot on the bed and lays down fully. Jayce hovers over him, one leg on each side of Viktor’s petite waist. Only once did Jayce Talis ever kissed a boy and that had happened in middle school, but kissing boys is just like kissing girls… completely nerve-racking! 

“Just kiss me already,” huffs Viktor, yanking Jayce by the collar and slamming his lips against his. Jayce lets out a surprised yelp, but adjusts. Viktor’s free hand travels around Jayce’s waist and to his back, landing on his ass. He smacks Jayce’s ass, earning a moan from the other man, and begins groping it without remorse.

“Dude,” Viktor pauses the kiss to get your attention, “You have to feel this ass, it’s like pound cake.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” you make your way to Jayce’s backside, grabbing his ass and feeling it up, “Damn, Jayce! You have a whole bakery here!”

“Uh, thanks?” Jayce answers, unsure if that’s a compliment or not. You give Jayce your own smack on the ass, “Nice ass, Golden Boy. Now, get back to making out with my best friend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he exclaims before he resumes kissing Viktor. Meanwhile, you utilize this opportunity to ‘rub one out’, as you play with your clit and folds. You shove a finger inside and whimper, visualizing Jayce’s finger in its place. Another finger is soon added later and you bite your tongue to suppress any ungodly noises. 

“Hey, is it cool if I fuck him first?” Viktor asks you, receiving a weak thumbs up in return because you’re too busy jerking off to properly speak, “I’ll take that as a yes. Jayce, go get a condom from my bag.”

Jayce picks up Viktor’s satchel from the side of the bed and peeks inside, scooting various items out of the way before locating a roll of condoms, “I didn’t think you were the kinda guy to have a whole roll of condoms in your bag, Viktor.”

“Blame that one over there,” Viktor points over to you, who’s too entranced in pleasure to comment, “She likes to fuck everywhere.”

Jayce blushes at the thought; if you like to fuck everywhere, did you ever fuck in the arts classroom? His cock twitches when he imagines you and Viktor fucking in that classroom. Maybe, they’ll let me join them next time, Jayce ponders. 

Viktor shimmies off his pants and boxers, revealing his own equally impressive cock. It’s definitely not as long as Jayce’s, but Viktor rivals him in terms of girth. The man in question  rips off a condom from the roll and opens up its packaging, rolling the condom down his shaft, “Ready?”

“Wait, why am I the bottom?” he huffs.

You and Viktor stare at Jayce in silence, only the muffled echos of the party downstairs can be heard.

“Okay, you’re right, but still,” he concedes. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” states Viktor, genuine care in lieu of dry humor. Jayce smiles to himself at the reassurance and positions himself above Viktor, his hole dangerously close to his dick. 

“Got any lube?” asks Viktor.

“Yeah, in the top drawer of my dresser,” responds Jayce.

“Sweetheart,” the smaller man calls out to you, “Be a dear and grab the lube. No one’s raw-dogging anal tonight.”

“On it!” you approach Jayce’s dresser and open the top drawer. Among the stacks of underwear and socks, you find a bottle of lube, half of it already used, “Want me to lube you up, Jayce?”

“Sure,” he consents. You squirm some lube on your hand and Viktor pries Jayce’s cheeks open, granting you access to his hole. Jayce hisses at the coldness while you lube up his hole, taking time to finger him loose for extra measure, “All ready!”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Viktor smiles and pecks you on the lips, “Now, enjoy the show,” he lines his cock to Jayce’s asshole and guides him downward. Viktor’s cock pierces through Jayce’s untouched hole and Jayce swears he sees stars in that moment. The feeling of a dick in his ass is definitely a new feeling, as Jayce gives himself grace to adjust to Viktor’s size. The other man strokes the sides of Jayce’s legs as a means of distraction, “Take all the time you need, darling.”

Pain soon morphs into pleasure and Jayce moans loudly, “Fuck! This is nice!” He begins to ride Viktor’s cock, his own dick bouncing up and down with each movement. His tongue rolls out of his mouth, the overwhelmed pleasure incapacitating any reasonable thought in Jayce’s head. Jayce steadies himself with the help of his headboard, continuing to hop on Viktor’s dick like a rabbit in heat. Cum drips from his cock onto Viktor’s pelvis, but he pays no mind to it, too fixated on Jayce’s blissed out expression. Viktor joins in with Jayce’s bouncing and thrusts his dick upward whenever Jayce goes downwards. He positions his cock just right to hit Jayce’s prostate, sending full body shivers through the larger man.

“There, there!” Jayce eggs Viktor on. Using Jayce’s hips for support, Viktor pistons his dick in and out of Jayce, relishing in each inclited moan and plea from the lacrosse player. To Jayce, each collision against his prostate feels like winning at the slot machines. One final thrust grants Jayce with the jackpot win, as he climaxes and coats Viktor’s torso in cum. Viktor follows afterwards and grunts, spilling his cum into the condom.

“Congratulations,” Viktor lets out a pant, rubbing circular motions with his thumbs against Jayce’s aides, “You just lost your anal virginity.”

Jayce tries to reply, but all that comes out of his mouth is incoherent babbles of pleasure subsiding. With Viktor’s assistance, he carefully slides off Viktor’s dick and promptly collapses on the bed beside him, his poor hole throbbing. Viktor removes the condom from his now flaccid cock and ties it shut; he tosses it into the small trash can and eyes you up, “I think he might be done for the night.”

“I’m not!” Jayce refutes, “See, look!” he gestures to his cock, still hard. 

“Jesus Christ, did someone spike your drink with Viagra? How are you still hard?” you sputter, “This calls for drastic measures.”

“Drastic measures?” questions Viktor. 

“I’m gonna milk that cock,” you proclaim.

You and Viktor swap places while Jayce regains his energy for another fuck. Engulfing Jayce in a side hug, you quietly hum to him, “What position do you wanna do? I’m a fan of missionary and doggy style.” 

“Can we do doggy style?” he requests.

You snicker, “You’re not gonna be beating the golden retriever boy allegations anytime soon,” you roll over and get on your hands and knees, “I’m all yours for the taking, Golden Boy.”

Jayce rises up from the bed and gets behind you, your ass hitched up and slick leaking down your inner thighs. He gropes your ass a bit and gives it a few smacks as playback, “Nice,” he mumbles under his breath. 

“Are you gonna keep admiring me or are you gonna fuck me already?” you sway your hips at Jayce, his cock twitching hard. Viktor tosses him an unused condom and Jayce rolls the rubber over the entirety of his shaft. Now properly prepared, he lines his dick up to your entrance and rubs it with the tip, making sure you’re wet enough for him to enter. You let out a low whine and Jayce takes it as a sign to slide in, doing so methodically and with as much gentleness as he could muster. 

“So big…” you mewl, taking each inch of Jayce’s length like a trooper. By the time he finally bottoms out, there’s a noticeable bulge by the lower half of your stomach. Jayce caresses your stomach and finds the bulge, silently gawking at the sheer power of his size. On the other hand, you’re able to faint if Jayce Talis doesn’t fuck you yet, so you take matters into your own hands and pull back a bit on his cock before smacking your bottom against it. Jayce snaps into focus and grabs your hips, digging his nails into your supple flesh. His chest presses up against your back and he groans in your ear, “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Says the guy who just lost his virginity five minutes ago,” you fire back. Jayce responds with a sharp thrust and you replace your sass with a shameless moan. The frat bro starts thrusting in and out, making small modifications to his movements that incite the biggest reaction from you. Jayce finds it very hard not to pin you down and fuck the life out of you, he’s a gentleman like his mamá raised him to be. However, you’re more than willing to get the life fucked out of you, as you beg to Jayce, “Please! Fuck me, fuck me like an animal! I want you to destroy my cunt!”

All logic, all reason, went out the window the moment you tell Jayce to destroy your cunt. He buries your face into the bedsheets and latches a hand onto one of your tit while the other locks around your waist. You realize what a big man Jayce Talis is when he pins you, easily trapping you under his size. The sound of skin slapping against skin and filthy moans fill the bedroom, as Jayce growls to you, “You want me to destroy your cunt, huh?” 

Smack! 

“You want me to bruise that cervix of you, make you unable to walk for days?”

Smack! Smack! 

“I wonder what kind of excuse you would have to use to justify such a prolonged absence.”

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

“Sorry, Professor! I missed last class because Golden Boy Jayce Talis destroyed my tight, little cunt!”

“Jayce, please, please!” you sob against the bedsheets, tears of pleasure and arousal running down your cheeks, “Bruise my cervix! Do whatever you want, just fuck me!”

Jayce grits his teeth and picks up his pace, the bed rocking and creaking with each thrust. He looks over at an awfully quiet Viktor, only to see the stoner stroke himself off at the sight of his best friend getting fucked. That pushes Jayce to the limit and he lifts you up, holding against his body while he relentlessly fucks you. Any noise that comes out of your pretty little mouth is either pitiful cries or moans forced out by Jayce’s pistoning.

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” he rasps, as his third orgasm of the night builds up, “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes! Yes!” you wail. In a flash, Jayce flips you over so you’re facing him and his lips clash against yours, a passionate kiss to silence his orgasmic moans while he climaxes. Near the desk, Viktor climaxes, as well, covering his mouth with his hand to suppress his moans. Your walls clench around Jayce’s shaft and you keep him inside your pussy until you milk every last drop from his beast of a cock. 

Finally flaccid, Jayce pulls out of your cunt and falls exhausted by your side, completely drained. Viktor joins the two of you on the bed and snuggles up close to your left while you rub Jayce’s back on your right. 

“That was so hot,” comments Viktor.

“Agree,” you tack on.

Jayce mumbles something against the bedsheets, but neither you nor Viktor can decipher what he says. You turn on your side and hug Jayce from behind, “Congratulations on losing your virginity, we’ll get you an ice cream cake to celebrate it tomorrow.”

“Yay…” he weakly cheers, “I love ice cream cake,” you chuckle quietly and kiss his back a few times, “Good job, very good job.”

“Hey, where’s my aftercare?” Viktor mockingly frowns. You pull away from Jayce and kiss him on the lips; you then pull away and pinch his cheeks, “Ouch!” he hisses, “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world!” you tease. Viktor rolls his eyes and sets back into the bed. With a handsome boy on each side of you, you smile fondly to yourself and bask in the glory. 

“We’re definitely doing this again.”

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter eleven

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: you're back on the day-shift , slowly but surely stitching normalcy back together. the hospital hums with quiet welcome, and even the rooftop feels like home again. but dusk brings more than cold air and habit. it brings the answer to every unspoken fear.

⤿ warning(s): stalking, obsessive behaviour, violence, non-consensual touching

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 2.6k

Your first dawn back in your own apartment slips through the cream curtains like a shy hello. 

The hallway carries a faint lemon scent—Mr. Donnelly’s handiwork. While you were gone he swept the stairs, mopped the landing, and even fitted a raccoon-proof lid on your trash can, leaving a note: Still doing neighborhood rounds—call if the evil returns. The simple kindness steadies your pulse as you lock up and head for the hospital.

The east windows glow with weak November sun when you badge into Surgical at 06:42, one minute before the day crew hands things over. No applause, no sheet cake—just chlorhexidine in the air, fresh wax underfoot, the beep-tick of monitors, and the scratch of a marker on the whiteboard.

Exactly the scale of normal you prayed for.

Your shoes squeak once. Dr. Garcia doesn’t look up from the schedule until you’re in front of her; then she flicks her pen free of her teeth.

“Lap-chole at eight, bowel re-section at noon,” she says, pushing a chart your way. “If Dr. Miller steals my curved clamps, bite him.”

That’s Garcia’s version of a hug, sharp and warm all at once.

“Missed you too, Doc,” you say, flipping the chart open. Allergies, consent, nothing forgotten.

Down the hall, Dr. Miller leans from Pre-Op, mask hanging at his throat.

“Well, suture me to the deck and call me anchored,” he crows. “Senior nurse’s back; the sun must’ve signed a non-compete.” 

Two residents groan. You roll your eyes, but his pun lands like sunshine.

At the desk Margot waits, tea in one hand, clipboard in the other. No fuss—just a gentle shove of the cup toward your fingers.

“Lead aprons are in Room 3,” she murmurs. “And nobody touches your clipboard but ghosts and God. Clear?”

“Crystal,” you answer. Hot black tea—no decaf, bless her ruthless heart.

Jules meets you in Sterile Core, trays lined up with jeweler precision.

“Count’s perfect,” she says, eyebrow high. “Try to keep it that way, Steel-Spine.”

You tap the instrument key and grin, the nickname feels more like armor than mockery. Fin slips out from behind a supply rack, cheeks flushed. He hands over a badge reel shaped like a tiny scalpel, 3-D printed in gun-metal gray.

“For luck,” he mutters.

You clip it beside your ID and squeeze his shoulder. “Looks like it belongs here.”

No time for sentiment—Pre-Op is already paging. You swing into the corridor, shoes squeaking once, shoulders settling into the rhythm of morning prep.

Hours later, between the gallbladder you just dropped off in recovery and the bowel case rolling up next, you snatch ninety seconds in the locker room. Your name plate never came down; someone taped a cartoon scalpel under it that says CUT THE DRAMA, NOT THE PATIENT. You tie your scrub cap tighter, close your eyes, and listen—carts rattling, suction sighing, ventilators counting breaths. 

Life, loud and sure.

In OR 3 the lights blaze white as the patient arrives. Drape, prep, quick safety pause. Dr. Garcia stretches out her gloved hand; you land the instrument she wants before she speaks. Her eyes crinkle over the mask.

Time blurs: clicks of metal, the smell of cautery, the soft hiss of suction. Dr. Miller stays well clear of Dr. Garcia’s side. Fin calls the final count, Jules signs off with a flourish, and a wide-eyed resident whispers, “That was beautiful,” while you wheel the bed to recovery.

It’s 14:55 when the last chart closes and hot water finally scrubs the sting from your hands. You're ready for your lunch break.

In the lounge the fridge swings open—Margot added a padlock “for deterrence,” and past it, your lunch box sits untouched. In the group chat, Margot's message stands, Password still BENTO4LIFE. Fin remains unauthorized—hold the line.

You snap a photo of your rice, full black beans and chicken cutlet, and text: Day shift—still standing.

Jack’s reply pops up almost instantly: ❤️

Heat blooms in your ribs—ridiculous, giddy.

Phone pocketed, lunch done, you step into the hall just as afternoon rounds swell. No mystery texts, no shifting clipboards—only the pulse of daylight medicine and a wing that treats your return as routine. Your shoes squeak once—bright, confident—before you angle toward the next bay, steady, useful, home.

. . .

The ward shifts from afternoon buzz to evening exhale, that gentle slack in noise just before night crew takes the reins. You hand off your final patient note, re-dock your scanner, and accept a round of shoulder squeezes from Margot and Jules. Fin calls after you to guard the badge reel with your life; Dr. Garcia just points at tomorrow’s schedule and mouths, “On time.” You salute her with your thermos in lieu of a goodbye.

Inside the lift you can’t stop checking the lid—double tight on a brew of smoky oolong Jack once said tasted like autumn bonfires. Two paper sleeves of ginger cookies ride in your tote, still warm from the residents’ lounge microwave. The elevator climbs past six, seven, eight floors; your pulse climbs faster.

The stairwell to the roof smells of concrete dust and old rain. You take the steps two at a time—part nerves, part giddy anticipation—and push through the metal door, expecting the familiar silhouette leaning against the railing, that half-grin waiting just for you.

Wind flattens your scrub top to your spine as the door bangs shut behind you. At first glance the roof looks empty—until your eyes adjust. A single figure stands near the eastern rail, lean and wiry under a navy scrub jacket. A stethoscope is looped around his neck, badge clipped low on his pocket like any off-duty doctor catching air between cases. You don’t recognize the face—sharp jaw, unruly dark hair—but the uniformed familiarity tugs you a step forward instead of back. Maybe he’s new.

“Evening,” you call, curiosity edging out caution.

The man turns slowly. His smile is bright, almost boyish—until your gaze drops to his right hand. A scalpel glints there, pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger, blade catching the last streak of sunset like a sliver of cold fire.

Your pulse stops, slams, then races.

The thermos sweats against your palm; the paper sleeve of cookies crackles. He lifts the scalpel in an absent gesture, as if it were nothing more than a fountain pen, grin widening like you’ve shared a private joke.

Every instinct screams run, but your feet stay welded by a single stunned thought: Jack isn’t here, and this stranger, smiling so pleasantly, is holding a very real blade.

The stranger’s smile widens, teeth catching the weak rooftop light. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten our spot,” he says, voice light and breathy—like gossip shared over coffee instead of across forty feet of concrete. The scalpel twirls once between his fingers, sure and practiced. “But of course you wouldn’t. You love routines. I do, too.”

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You note the details automatically: the slight tremor in his free hand, the way his badge dangles backward so you can’t read the name, how his sneakers squeak just a hair when he shifts his weight—steps that could close the gap in seconds.

“I’ve been so patient,” he continues, nodding as if grading himself. “Waiting through extra cameras, new door codes, night shifts. I thought the fridge lock was clever—Margot's idea, right?—but it made things tricky. Made me improvise.” His eyes flick to the thermos in your grip. “You brought tea anyway. Loyal. I like that.”

Rain from yesterday’s storm drips off the drainage gutters, each plink absurdly loud.

“I missed your mornings,” he says, stepping toward the river view but angling his torso so he keeps you in sight. “The way you double-check the crash carts, straighten the clipboard—beautiful rituals. They’re why I chose you.” He inhales like savoring perfume. “You keep the chaos tidy. It’s… comforting.”

Your pulse pummels your throat. You slide one foot back, inching toward the door handle behind you; it feels miles away. He notices and laughs softly.

“Don’t,” he says almost kindly. “If you leave now, we’ll just start over tomorrow. And you’ve worked so hard today.” The scalpel tilts, catching orange from the west.

You steady the thermos, grip tightening until metal bites.

The man sighs, almost wistful. “I watched you all day. The way you glided through that bowel case—poetry. They don’t appreciate it the way I do. They never see you.” His gaze drags over you, hungry and reverent all at once. “But I do.”

Your mind races: shout for help? Rooftop door is heavy; sound might not carry. Stall him. Keep distance.

“Who are you?” you manage, voice hoarse.

“I’m the one who’s been writing you.” He taps his chest with the scalpel hilt and as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Trash-can raccoons? That was me testing your attention to detail. The intern’s muffin? A cute bonus. Clipboard tilt—my little signature.” He shrugs, grin stretching. “I thought the note on the Tupperware would make you smile, but you panicked. You weren’t ready yet.”

Every hair on your arms lifts. You want to throw up. He studies your reaction like data.

“But you’re ready now,” he whispers. “Back on days, back where you shine. I wanted our first real conversation to be here, where you and the sky meet. A clean view. A beginning.”

He steps closer—five paces left between you. You retreat one pace, the door’s push-bar now a cold echo against your spine. Old rainwater from the vent dribbles down your collar. He notices, frowns with genuine concern.

“You’re cold. Let me—” He extends the hand holding the scalpel, blade down as if to offer help.

The gesture jolts you back to yourself. You lift the thermos, thumb hooking beneath the lid—scalding liquid, a ready weapon. Your other hand edges toward your phone, pulse pounding so loud you taste metal.

His eyes flick to the movement, then back to your face, hurt flickering like a twitch. “Please don’t ruin this,” he murmurs. “I planned everything.”

Your breaths saw in and out. Behind him the last smear of sun bleeds into river-black. Somewhere far below, an ambulance siren wails, climbing.

You draw a deeper lungful, fix your gaze on the scalpel glittering between you, and summon the steady voice that calmed countless patients.

“Okay but you need to put the blade down,” you say, tone low but clear. “We can talk, but that comes first.”

He hesitates—brief, uncertain—and in that sliver of pause you feel the phone vibrate once in your pocket: a message you don’t dare check. Another siren peaks. Somewhere, maybe, help is already moving.

The stranger straightens, expression slipping from eager to something colder. “I didn’t come here for rules,” he whispers.

The metal mug feels slick in your sweating grip. Every instinct tells you to bolt, yet your feet stay rooted by the knowledge that a single wrong motion might sharpen the scalpel’s arc toward you.

“Let me pour you a cup,” you say, surprised you still have a voice. It’s the one you use on trembling post-ops—low, steady, hypnotic. Steam coils upward as you loosen the lid; your hand barely trembles, though your heart slams so hard you taste copper.

He discards his frustrations like nothing, and steps closer into the burnt-orange wash of the security light. Up close the details jolt into clarity: wiry build under the scrub jacket, glasses fogged at the edges. A thin line of acne scars dots his jaw. His smile widens as he cradles the cup you offer, scalp­el blade glinting just inches from your sleeve.

“That smell—oolong,” he breathes, as if inhaling you with the steam. “The morgue coffee is terrible. But this… This is how you start your mornings, isn’t it?”

Goose-flesh ripples up your arms. “I do like routines.”

“So do I,” he whispers. “I watched you relabel a gallbladder sample in July. So precise. Everyone else moved on, but you stayed, made sure the name matched the wristband. That’s when I knew.”

Your spine goes cold. Another cup poured buys seconds. You force your lips into something gentle as his closeness allows you to take a small peak at his badge. “You're from the frozen-section team?”

His eyes light up. “Yes! You remembered.”

But you don't. You don't know him, you don't remember anything. You must pretend like you do. Your literal survival depends on it. So, you nod, heartbeat thudding at your ears. The skyline wavers behind him, city lights doubled in the blur of your tears.

“Why the scalpel?” you ask, voice barely above wind.

He glances at it, almost sheepish. “Force of habit. A conductor needs a baton.”

My God.

You try again, hoping the tea has softened the edges of whatever violent delusion is clouding his senses. “Could you put it away? Tea first, then talk.”

A hesitation—then, worshipfully, he pockets it. Adrenaline floods your limbs.

You hand him a third cup. His fingers rhythmically tap the metal lid—one-two-three, one-two-three—like feeling out your pulse. In the glare you can see steam silvering the lenses of his glasses, moisture beading on his cheekbones.

Now!

You fling the cup on his hand. Boiling tea splashes across his face; the scream that rips out of him is half animal, half betrayed child. He claws at his eyes.

You drive your shoulder into his chest, bones jolting, but he pivots with unnerving speed. Your shove knocks him sideways only half a step; rubber soles squeak on wet concrete, and his free hand lashes out, fingers closing vise-tight around your upper arm.

“No—no—” Panic shreds the word as you twist for the door handle, but he yanks you back, slamming your spine against the metal. The latch rattles uselessly under your flailing grip.

Up close his face is a mask of cool fascination, not rage—eyes bright, tracking every tremor in your expression. Tea still steams off his cheek, reddening the skin, yet his voice stays almost gentle. It makes you sick.

“Easy,” he murmurs, tightening his hold until your fingers tingle. “We’ve come this far. Please, please don’t ruin it.”

You scream anyway—raw, desperate—but the rooftop swallows the sound, vast and indifferent. He clamps a hand over your mouth, breath steady against your ear. The scalpel is back and glints inches from your throat, a silent reminder that strength isn’t always measured in muscle.

Your pulse hammers so hard you taste blood. You kick, heel connecting with his shin; he grunts but doesn’t loosen his grip. “Shhh,” he soothes, chilling in its softness. “I know you’re frightened. First encounters are messy.”

Tears blur the skyline behind him—river lights smearing into streaks. You try to bite his palm; he shifts just enough to avoid teeth, fingers digging into your jaw. Controlled, practiced.

“Listen,” he whispers, almost tender. “All the safeguards, all the cameras, and still we’re here. That means something. You feel it, don’t you?”

Your lungs burn, screams muffled to whimpers. You shove at his chest—too lean to look strong, yet his grip is iron. The thermos tumbles from your hand, clanging into the darkness. Cookies scatter like brittle coins.

He leans closer—scalpel grazing your collar—voice dropping to a reverent hush. “I only needed you to stop running. Then we can begin.”

divider credit

[bullet-prooflove]

PSA On: The Dr Robby x Jack Abbot x Reader Throuple

I feel like now is a good time to limit some expectations in regards to the Jack x Robby x Reader throuple.

If you know me and you’ve read my writing, you’ll know that I enjoy exploring complex adult relationships, this includes intimacy, domesticity and dynamics.

This is exactly how I will write the throuple. We’ll see snapshots of their time together, how it works between the three of them, the different issues that arise individually and how they deal with these issues as a throuple.  

What you won’t get:

Continuous bang sessions. There will be some smut but like the rest of my work it will not be the priority.

When I write sex there is usually a deep emotional competent, there’s a reason behind everything in that scene, the positions, the wording, the type of sex that’s being had and that’s usually drawn from the characters and what they need in the moment.

Examples:

Jack needs Faye to be rough with him because of his masochistic streak.

Allegra being a little wild and Robby being more submissive in the bedroom because he deserves someone to take care of him, to make him a priority.

Dennis constantly exploring new things with Lola because he’s sexually inexperienced.

Ivy being more dommy with Frank because she needs control due to the nature of her job as a SEN nurse. Frank likes being taken care of, he likes being a priority to someone so enjoys the focus of her attention.

Jesse and Jana are just complete wildcards, they’re open to playing with others but careful setting boundaries because at the core of it, it’s really about them.

John Shen’s always being soft with Cici and letting her guide their bedroom antics because for a long time she didn’t get to make those choices.

These are all character driven sex scenes. The writing is made much richer because there’s authenticity to them that’s been developed through the non-smutty fics.

I am not a wish fulfilment writer, I don’t write smut for the hell of it. I write it because it tells a story or it adds to it. So if you are expecting threesomes galore I’m sorry you won’t be getting that.

For me it’s about the relationship and bond between the characters and while sex is a part of that, it’s not the entirety of it.

I hope that helps everyone understand what we’ll be seeing from this throuple and it negates any misconceptions that anyone may have about where this journey is going.

[tharizt]

the gatwa era has thematically been about lost families and how non-normative forms of it are valid. family is not biological. family is not heteronormative. family is chosen, not given. belinda's arc had to tie into that theme somehow.

it frustrates me a bit that people are just going "belinda was reduced to motherhood". she wasn't "reduced". yeah sure, davies *always* brings his companions back down to domestic life after their time in the tardis. i also prefer moffat. but it's not done so here for no reason.

belinda doesn't give up anything else? she's still a nurse, so her career is intact. she's not in a romantic relationship. she's not married off. she raises poppy as a single mother. she wasn't absorbed into some idealised nuclear family. she was just reunited with her daughter.

and more importantly, belinda's arc actually engages with the core thematic substance of the gatwa era. this entire stretch of the show is about abandoned and lost children, and the people who find them again.

ruby and carla. belinda and poppy. goddess abena. splice. even the doctor himself; trying to make sense of susan and what family means when you're queer, immortal, and childless. this era is full of people who are not biologically related but are still bound together.

having belinda be a mother is part of that larger vision. she gets to be a single mother. she gets to keep her job. she gets to be strong and competent and compassionate. nothing about that reduces her. it places her within the emotional and thematic fabric of the era.

now yeah there are valid critiques to be made about how davies often handles female companions. and yeah, it's definitely fair to say that belinda being rewritten to fit a broader theme sacrifices some of what made her unique when she first appeared.

actually i think the same thing happened with ruby. he set up very clear signs about how something about her was supernatural, but then he rewrote her to fit his thematic idea while sacrificing a lot of what made her initially compelling for other reasons.

but to say belinda was simply reduced to motherhood misses the point when it's in a story that is clearly trying to show that family can look like many different things outside the confines of heteronormative expectations.

people will go "she was just locked in a box for the finale" uhm for like 10 minutes out of a decision she did to protect the emotional anchor of the entire narrative? for most of it, she was out too. actually, the entire third act is emotionally centered around belinda.

ruby gets some action, sure, but the story isn't about her like it is about belinda. hell, it is belinda we check in on one last time. it's belinda 15 says farewell too. not ruby. doesn't that say something?

[rottenpumpkin13]

Ignoring Crisis Core's plot, how do you think a falling out would go between AGS? Not anything to do with Degradation, a serious falling out that threatens to shatter their friendship? How would each react? What would happen? Would they resolve it?

Hurt/comfort it is!

Like all stupid friendship fallouts, it should start with a poorly-timed joke or a careless remark—a spark that ignites a raging wildfire because no one bothered to put it out. An insolent tongue, a stray jab, or a well-meaning but tactless comment. Something that on another day might've been brushed off or laughed away, but in the moment hits like a blade to the ribs.

In the case of Angeal, Sephiroth, and Genesis, the stakes are as delicate as they are explosive. Angeal and Genesis have the advantage of years behind them—shared memories, countless arguments weathered and resolved, an unshakable bond forged in their childhood and nursed until adulthood. They've built their friendship on the basis of trust, even when tempers flare. But Sephiroth is newer to their bond, less familiar with the invisible lines they've drawn, not used to friendship, not used to other humans, and more prone to crossing them unknowingly.

That's why it's so easy, in their eyes, to see him as the villain when his pragmatism cuts too close to their pride. A passing comment about the upcoming mission—clinical, realistic, and with no malice: They're not competent enough for it. Sephiroth doesn't mean to insult, he doesn't want to endanger them. But the implication is enough to crack the fragile understanding between them, and what follows is as fiery as it is inevitable.

The room was quiet, completely quiet, which should've been unnerving enough on its own had Sephiroth's enhanced hearing not picked up the sound of two erratically beating hearts and a muffled grunt in Genesis' throat. 

They had been discussing strategy for hours, debating the best approach for an upcoming mission into Wutai territory. The air was heavy, they were exhausted, and the tension was tighter than a drawn bowstring, ready to snap—three minds, three egos, all colliding clumsily in the face of high stakes.

Genesis leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, smiling in a way Sephiroth knew was not genuine. "Then perhaps we should let our dear General handle it all himself. He's practically perfect, after all. What need has he for canon fodder?"

Angeal groaned softly, his head dropping to his lap. "Genesis…"

But Sephiroth continued, with a sharp edge to his voice that held more reason than malice behind it. "If you're suggesting you wouldn't be useful, then yes. I'd rather not carry dead weight."

The room froze over. The pen slipped from Genesis' hand, clattering onto the table. Angeal sat up straighter, a deep frown etching into his face as he looked back up. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Genesis spat. 

Sephiroth's expression remained neutral. "It means what it sounds like. This mission is critical, and I need people who can keep up. Your presence would only endanger yourselves and compromise the assignment."

Angeal's voice cut through, not a hint of understanding in its inflection. "Sephiroth, that's out of line."

Sephiroth's green eyes flicked to Angeal, unreadable. "It's not a matter of pride, Angeal. It's a matter of survival. I don't intend to put either of you in unnecessary danger…. losing you would be unthinkable—"

"You don't intend to put us in danger! Yes, that makes sense!" Genesis snapped, standing now, his chair screeching against the floor. "You arrogant bastard. You don't get to decide what risks we take. You're not our keeper."

"I'm your superior," Sephiroth replied, calm but unyielding despite the feeling that his words were failing him. "It's my job to ensure success. If that means excluding those who would jeopardize it—"

"Jeopardize it?" Genesis' laughter was hollow, biting, making Sephiroth flinch. "Coming from you? That's rich. Do you hear yourself? You've been insufferable since day one, looking down on everyone as if you're some god. Well here's some news, Sephiroth: you're not."

Sephiroth stared at him, opening his mouth.

"You're not!"

He flinched, closing it again.

Angeal stood then. "Enough, both of you. Genesis, sit down. Sephiroth…" He looked at the younger SOLDIER, disappointment heavy in his tone. "You could've handled this better, Seph. I don't know what to tell you."

Sephiroth's jaw tightened, the only visible sign that Angeal's words had struck a nerve. They were not privy to the panic gripping his heart as he formulated the right words in his mind. "If I'm wrong, prove it in the field. But don't ask me to trust you when I know you'll hurt yourselves."

Genesis stormed out first, throwing open the door with the steel toe of his boot. Angeal followed moments later, sparing one last glance at Sephiroth—one of clear hurt, before sighing and following the redhead before slamming the door shut behind him.

Sephiroth sat alone for an hour after it, gaze fixed on his hands in his lap, flexing them over and over, remind himself that they were, at the end of the day, human hands. 

The days that followed were worse. Genesis refused to acknowledge Sephiroth's presence, and Angeal, though more restrained, was distant, his usual warmth replaced by basic professionalism. They spoke in clipped tones during briefings, ignored him in the training room, and shared quiet conversations with Genesis that stopped the moment he entered.

For Sephiroth, the isolation was a slow, festering wound. He told himself it was for the best. Had he put friendship—and dare he call it love—over reason, it would endanger them. It was better this way. Still, he couldn't stop the ache that settled in his chest when he saw them laughing together, the bond from which he was now excluded from. 

When the mission came, Sephiroth went alone.

The aftermath was bloody. Sephiroth had succeeded in the objective, but it came at a cost. He returned battered, shredded, not on his own feet carrying him, but a medical team. The blood seeping through his silver hair was more his own than the enemy's. 

Hojo oversaw Sephiroth's treatment, suturing torn flesh and monitoring his recovery under strict observation. The injuries weren't especially concerning—Sephiroth had returned in worse condition before, and Hojo himself had inflicted worse during experiments. Physically, Sephiroth was healing as expected, but his weakness this time was more psychological than physical.

When the door to the holding room slammed open, Angeal and Genesis bursting in, Hojo immediately understood the root of the issue.

Genesis looked furious, his eyes blazing, but it was Angeal who spoke first, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as they ignored Hojo's barks of protest and strode to Sephiroth's side. "What the hell were you thinking, going alone?" Angeal demanded.

Sephiroth looked at them from the bed, pale and exhausted but steady. "I thought it was for the best. I didn't want to endanger anyone else unnecessarily. I told you that."

Genesis' earlier anger was now edged with something raw, desperation bleeding through his scowl as his blue eyes welled with hot tears. "We didn't want you to get yourself killed, you bastard! Do you even realize—damn it—" He broke off, his voice cracking as he looked away.

Angeal placed a firm but gentle hand on Sephiroth's. "We were angry, yes. But you…you're one of us, Sephiroth. Don't you get that? You're part of this team, this family. You're not better, you're not worse. Families fight, but they don't abandon each other."

Sephiroth said nothing, his gaze flickering between them, uncharacteristically uncertain. Genesis seized the moment, his voice trembling: "That's why we wanted to come, you idiot," he said. "Glory be damned, Sephiroth. You may act like some insufferable god who always knows best, but you're flesh and—" his gaze swept over Sephiroth's bandaged, broken arm—"surprisingly brittle bone."

The weight of their reprimand should have kept him stoic, but a faint, unpracticed smile tugged at Sephiroth's lips. He missed them.

When he spoke, his voice was softer, hesitant, and painfully deliberate. "I… didn't mean to push you away. I thought…" He trailed off, carefully choosing his words, replaying them in his mind. "I thought it was better than dragging you down."

Genesis exhaled sharply, rubbing his face before throwing Angeal a quick glance. Then, turning back to Sephiroth, he said: "You're an idiot. A brilliant idiot, but still an idiot."

Sephiroth's faint smile twitched at the edges, but his next words came fearful and quiet. "Have I been forgiven?"

Angeal and Genesis exchanged another look, and the pause that followed cut deeper than Sephiroth expected. Then Angeal huffed, crossing his arms. "I think we're three parts of a whole by now," he told Genesis. "I can't handle you on my own."

Genesis' mouth fell open, affronted. "How dare—"

"Look," Angeal interrupted, turning his attention back to Sephiroth. "I understand you wanted to protect us. I even understand your intentions. But Sephiroth, you don't protect us by cutting us out. You protect us by letting us fight beside you."

Sephiroth's gaze shifted between them—these two who, against all odds, had become the anchor of his world—and the something heavy in his chest finally began to ease.

"I… may have miscalculated," he admitted.

Genesis rolled his eyes so dramatically it bordered on theatrical. "He may have miscalculated, he says. Angeal, our fearless leader has finally mastered the art of an understatement."

Sephiroth huffed a weak laugh as he struggled to sit up, biting back a grimace of pain. "The fates are cruel," he said.

And this time, Genesis' laughter carried no bitterness.

The only bitterness in the room came from Hojo's growled order to "release my specimen at once," but the SOLDIERs ignored him entirely. Angeal and Genesis leaned into the bed, wrapping Sephiroth in a careful embrace. Sephiroth winced but smiled, the pain a small price for their presence.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay, so I just found out that I can watch the whole 2015 stage production of ‘Shock Treatment’ on YouTube and, like, I have… so many thoughts and feelings. It really does demonstrate how Shock Treatment’s biggest flaws is just how unfocused and messy and… just needing one or two more rewrites to reach it's full potential. 

Like there are a few tweaks to the dialogue that makes the whole narrative a bit simpler and easier to comprehend, the satire is a bit more focused on the core themes, I thought most of the jokes were pretty solid (and the more sexual ones offer somewhat of a stronger thematic link to ‘Rocky Horror’) and now there’s actually Shock Treatment in the plot of Shock Treatment!

I do really like how they tweaked the lyrics of some of the song to smooth over some of the remnant ‘these were written for a very different RHPS sequel and re-fitted into this plot’ weirdness. I especially like ‘I they need some young blood’ and the change to the title line in ‘Looking for Trade Fame’ and ‘Look what I you/he did to my Id” (meaning Farley). Sometimes ya just need to change just one lil' pronoun and the whole-ass song makes a lot more sense. 

But the biggest positive change this Stage Version brought is the cast. Because ‘Shock Treatment’ the movie just has way too many characters. Like, look at this compared to RHPS’ cast list.

While this is maybe a natural result of the setting shift from an isolated castle to a whole town, it also leaves a lot of the secondary cast feeling flat and with no real space to develop. Comparing both of Little Nell’s roles is probably the best example. Nurse Ansalong is fun and Nell's performance is great as usual, but she’s just kinda around to be a RHPS nod and so Little Nell has Something to Do in this movie and an excuse to run around in a sexy nurse’s outfit. And these are all noble goals but… well, Columbia was an actual character, as campy as RHPS is, she was a character with emotions and pathos and tragedy and an important narrative and thematic role. Ansalong just never had the time to develop into someone with even a tenth of that depth.

(It also makes ‘Shock Treatment’ waaaay harder to Shadow Cast.)

So the stage version just cutting her out and… basically cutting everyone out except for Brad, Janet, Farley, the two Dr. McKinleys, Betty and Ralph just gives a much better chance for all of these characters to feel like actual people. Campy, exaggerated cartoony people - but definitely people. 

Like, we get to spend a little more time on making the manipulation of Janet into a superstar feel more gradual and convincing. Which both help her work better as… basically the Emotional cornerstone of the whole story and make the villains feel more despicable and more competent. Which of course really helps the two Dr. McKinleys since all of Farley’s other minions have been cut. In general they get more opportunity to say funny stuff and can really see how they use their faux psychology and therapyspeak to control people. 

....There's some level where I maybe think this script went a little too far in the other direction. That it's kinda disappointing that this Janet didn't never quite go off the deep end like her movie counterpart did. In general this version's slightly more.... grounded vibe - compared to the Movie's kinda Surrealist Nightmare Vibe - is one of the things I feel most conflicted about.

Like on one hand, this kinda campy nonsense world where gameshow hosts committing husbands to mental asylums and living your whole life on a sound-stage are normal is one of the most compelling parts of 'Shock Treatments' satire and it's kind of a shame to lose it... but also this more grounded tone creates a story that it's easier to follow an, more importantly, emotional stakes it's easier to get invested in. I think the Ideal Perfect Version of Shock Treatment’ that Exists Only in My Brain would be, tone-wise, in the middle between the movie and the stage show, but also maybe lean more towards the stage version?

The added details that Brad and Janet’s marriage has been hitting a rough patch because Brad has been fired from his job just as Janet has gotten a promotion (which I think is a detail from "The Brad and Janet Show" draft that was dropped from the 'Shock Treatment' movie?) adds some thematic resonance about the characters dealing with the Changing Times, the idea that Brad might feel emasculated with Janet’s success while has been (temporarily) regulated to the role of a househusband is maybe understandable but it is also understandable why it would frustrate Janet and thus lives her open to the McKinley's manipulations. Again, the characters are still kinda campy, still kinda silly - but having a bit of grounding for Brad and Janet’s relationship does help when this is basically… all the emotional stakes in the story.

Now, in the Ideal Perfect Version of Shock Treatment’ that Exists Only in My Brain, the rift in Brad and Janet relationship would’ve been created by the lingering effects of the events in the Frankenstein's Place. Janet would rather pretend they never happened but Brad is still visibly reeling from that time he got forced-femmed by aliens. And although the events of ‘Rocky Horror' did definitely happen in this version, it’s mentioned as just a throwaway joke (“We’ve been through so much together! Infidelity, homicide, aliens, fishnet stockings… and that’s just the engagement party”). Still, it was a funny throwaway joke - and the promotion-and-firing idea they went with makes thematic sense in this version of ‘Shock Treatment’. 

Farley Flavors also get a bit of a ‘boost’ from the trimmed cast but… honestly the changes to his character are the ones I am most split about. Because this version of Farley Flavors is generally better because there’s a bit more… flavor to him. A more visibly wacky personality, a few more gimmicks to him. And when I first saw him I was actually… pretty hyped about him as the main villain.

Because, okay, the main problem with Farley as a villain is that, despite Cliff De Young’s excellent performance, he really is just another Evil 80’s Businessman and that feels a bit bland in the wacky world of Rocky Horror. Like, the whole ‘long-lost twin brother’ twist is supposed to feel like the counterpart to the Alien Twist in RHPS and a parody of stupid soap opera twists in general. But… the thing is that even before we found out he was an alien, Frank was already an incredibly distinctive and unique character. Being revealed as an alien in the last act of the story doesn’t define him.

But since Farley doesn’t have as much going for his character, the stupid parody long-lost brother twist does end up being his defining trait and it makes his whole character feel lackluster because… it’s a stupid parody twist! 

But since Twenty-Fifteen Farley is Fairly Far-Fetched right from the get-go this means the twist has more of a chance to feel more like the original Aliens Twist. Plus, there’s bits of dialogue here and there that feel like Foreshadowing. Farley constantly reiterates that Denton is his hometown, and that he’s a self-made man (which connects to the briefly-alluded-to implication that he was adopted into a poorer family than Brad’s and that's the source of his resentment), him saying some very Ominous Things to Bard at the end of ‘Lullaby’

And then…. It turns out this version decided to cut the long-lost twin thing!

Which… honestly I probably should’ve seen coming from the casting choices. 

And like, I see the logic here. Obviously the double-casting gimmick does not work on stage, that was supposed to be a parody of soap-opera twists and that element is a lot more downplayed in this version of ‘Shock Treatment’ and like… since this plot point has been already been heavily criticized in the film version I can see why they would want to cut it. 

But… it’s not just that I feel like this twist would’ve worked better in this version it’s also that… cutting this plot point and replacing it with nothing just makes Brad - who is already kinda relegated into glorified McGuffin for most of this story - feel like he had even less to do with the plot and makes Farley’s apparent animosity for Brad even more inexplicable and shoddy.

Like, Farley still says he chose Janet ‘because of [Brad]’ so I guess we’re supposed to believe that he just finds Brad to be such a massive lameo that it makes him seethe with a burning hatred of a thousand suns. Which is an even flimsier motivation than that Twin Stuff in the movie. 

‘Duel Duet’ always has that problem that it was originally written for two characters with a very powerful well-established rivalry and emotional stakes (Dr. Frank N’ Furter and Riff-Raff) and then had to be transplanted into being about these two schmucks who barely even know each other. And removing the Twin Twist just kinda removes whatever emotional stakes they did have and exacerbates the problem. 

.....Honestly, I think the main way to really ‘fix’ Duel Duet is… instead of that one kinda ‘Girl Power’ moment they tried to give Janet that I feel is a bit too heavy-handed and obvious…

Just make ‘Duel Duet’ a Farley versus Janet song!

Like, Janet is unquestionably THE Main Character of the story with the most important emotional journey of all of the characters, she was the core target of Farley’s manipulation and the focus of his schemes, she’s the one who actually got to interact with him and developed any sort of relationship with him, the focus of this scene is on how Janet realizing she has been used by him, she already spends all of Duel Duet physically kicking his ass…

Janet should also be the one to musically face-off against Farley, especially if you remove the only reason why Farley has to hate Brad so much. Like, yeah, she does get to beat him physically... but because this is a musical - the Songs are the thing that gets the biggest emotional and narrative priority. The person who gets to Duel Duet with the Farley is the person who really beats him. And this is really moment that should belong to Janet in this version of the story.

And maybe removing one of the few Things Brad actually gets to do in this plot which is also his Big Musical Number would kinda suck for him, but… well, this version also gives Brad a nice lil’ Triumphant Reprise of ‘In My Own Way’ where he reaffirms his love for Janet and maybe you can expand that into his Big Musical Number and… y’know, if the rift in their marriage was at least kinda about Brad’s insecurities about Janet becoming the Main Breadwinner of the household… Maybe it’ll be a good resolution to his story to embrace being Janet’s little Damsel in Distress?

(I mean, I think this is an element in this musical as it is but.... but you could've leaned into it more!)

And with both Oliver Wright and Macy Struthers cut, that gives more material to make Betty’s character more interesting. Without Oliver, Betty generally gets to talk about her ongoing investigation with Janet - and that means the two of them get to have more interactions and a more visible friendship. And on the other hand, She starts out as Ralph Hapshatt’s cohost, putting on a very Macy-esque false smile and pretending they’re still happily married. It’s a fun, character-specific spin on the whole ‘falsehood of television’ motif of ‘Shock Treatment’. 

(Also since Oliver is cut, it means Betty, Janet and Brad sing “Anyhow, Anyhow” as a trio. Which… I think that means they’re gonna have a threesome. And you know what? I support Janet Majors and her two girlfriends!)

And Ralph… really got the biggest boost in personality from the trimming of the cast - especially as most of the singing roles of these cut characters for assigned to him. Like, okay, I think something that’s kind of a problem with the ending of the original ‘Shock Treatment’ is how… unambiguous it is when compared to ‘Rocky Horror’. 

Because ‘Rocky Horror’ has a very morally ambiguous cast - pretty much every character has some element that makes them at least a little bit sympathetic and also… well, if not morally wrong than at least an (Audience Participation Voice) ASSHOLE (but also yeah, a lot of them are morally reprehensible even when working against other morally reprehensible characters). And the ending leaves it ambiguous whatever Frank got what he deserves or whatever his death is a tragedy, or some combinations of the two. Not to mention the ambiguity of what happened to Brad and Janet; whatever they’ve been liberated or exploited or corrupted and whatever or not they’re better off being left behind on earth or remaining in Frank’s clutches.

And meanwhile ‘Shock Treatment’  has a VERY clear-cut ending. There is a unambiguous differentiation between the characters who are the Good Guys, and those who are Bad Guys and those who are the Bad Guys’ Gullible Victims. And, like, yeah, all the Bad Guys succeeded in their evil scheme and and are now basically literally rolling in cash

…but literally any character who has any redeeming qualities gets to happily escape this Nightmare Studio while singing a cheery song about sex. 

Even Oscar Drill and the Bits, who are quite literally Bit Characters and have very little characterization or connection to our Main Foursome, get to escape. Basically just because what little we got from them made them seem like a nice group of young gays and they never did anything bad. 

And all of the people who stayed behind were portrayed as such exaggerated cartoonish bigoted caricatures literally rushing in excitement to get themselves exploited. Nor do we get any moment for our protagonists to show any sort of concern or regret or sadness about these people who they've known all of their lives. So it’s really hard to care about them as, like, Real People who've been duped into being ground down by this awful machine of capitalism and conformism. 

I understand the idea that having a wider cast makes Denton feel more like a Town compared to the isolated feeling of the Frankenstein’s Place, and that seeing all of these people fall for Farley’s bullshit in their own slightly-different ways help drives home how prevalent and influential and powerful this capitalist proudly-selfish image-obsessed philosophy really is. But… none of these characters get enough time to develop into anything but shallow parodies of Society. There’s just not enough humanity in them to sell even an ounce of the tragedy of Columbia and Rocky's deaths. 

So condensing all of these slightly-different characters into Ralph Hapshatt… that really made him the most complicated and morally-ambiguous character in this whole musical. Because, yeah, he is a self-obsessed sexist asshole driven primarily by a desire for fame and fortune but…

We spend enough time with him to humanize him. To see how he’s struggling with internalized homophobia and how he does have his doubts about what Farley and Co. are doing to his best friends even if his thirst for fame keep winning the moral battle and that said thirst for fame is pretty obviously born from a desperate need for love and validation that this homophobic corporate world just can’t give him.

So when the show ends with him being happily strapped unto to the Shock Treatment device he illegally modified with his own two hands because he just can’t allow himself to refuse a chance to star on TV - on some level this is karma, but it’s also a grim reminder that even if our threesome of heroes are happy and free, this exploitative entertainment machine also 'just got to keep going', just got to keep grinding down other people in the name of mental health, the American family and quality entertainment. 

And although we’ve technically scaled down from a whole town to just one guy, this feels so much more tragic because as selfish as Ralph is, and as silly and intentionally-ridiculous as the writing is sometimes, he still feels so much like a person. 

[chiisana-sukima]

Between Dean and Sam: who prefers to be liked, and who prefers to be right?

Hi Nonny, thank you so much for the ask!

I think the easy answer is that Dean prefers to be liked and Sam prefers to be right. Dean has more friends, is more malleable, and has a huge, life-destroying fear of aloneness at his core, while Sam is Mr According to the Lore Research Boy who is often distant and intellecualizing, so this is a natural conclusion.

But actually I think that, like many people in high stress occupations, they both vastly prefer to be right and don't actually care that much about whether people like them or not.

In nursing, it's a truism that certain sub-disciplines--ICU, PCU, NICU, OR, ER--are full of "strong personalities"; which is what we call people who are excessively competent, just want to get the job done and get it done right, and don't really give a fuck about much else. Partly this is because people who are at baseline inclined towards a combination of technical competence and adventure tend to go into those difficult and high stress disciplines and partly it's because once you're there the job winnows everything else out of you.

That, to me, is Sam and Dean. They are "strong personalities". It's not that they don't have friends (although it's canon that in the early years part of the job is explicitly stated to be leaving your friends behind and not getting too close); it's that their friends are expendable, they themselves are expendable, everything is expendable except family and the job--and the job involves getting things right or dying.

Look at how they treat their friends. Look at Kevin, Garth, Rowena, Crowley, often Cas, even each other. They are frequently mean, insulting, belittling of others' value, and interacting with their friends like autistic children who bond through parallel play; except the play is "bleed for the Winchesters".

They both of course do have the basic human need to be seen and loved--which each expresses in their own natural way-- but that isn't at all the same as wanting to be "liked", and they both largely confine their need to be loved to a few select people. Everyone else goes in the "to sell for a corn chip if my brother is hungry" resource pile.

This is very much not me insulting them or saying that they're deranged or actually the bad guys or whatever. The way the universe of the show is set up, they are right. Their world is a huge ICU full of dying patients that's also on fire. In some ways the whole show is just a 15 year argument about how to be right when everyone is dying around you. Give up? Throw out your phone? Push it all down until it comes out in violence and alcoholism? "Like" is small and easily sacrificed compared to wading through the big stuff and doing your best.

[smithvirusmedical]

WELCOME

This is a little info thing on the Smith Virus Medical Center AU. It's a massive directory with characters, backstories, etc. Maybe even some snazzy pictures one day.

BACKSTORY

Remember this commercial? In this AU, something went horribly wrong recording it, and now the Smith virus is in OUR world. A hospital in Kissimmee, FL has responded to the outbreak by converting into a research facility populated by a bunch of odd "nurses" (for now, nurse is a very wide term as they act like doctors but look like nurses) and other workers, who've signed a contract that makes it so they live at the hospital indefinitely to investigate the outbreak and risk their life for...wait, this seems like a trap...And the doctors are slowly startng to lose their sanity too

CHARACTERS

there will be more.

Sophia Amburgey

Her first gig as a nurse

A miserable Midwesterner who was "forcefully" relocated to Florida. She's lived in Ocala for nearly a year, but still hates it and wants to go home, although she knows she can never return home. She's being driven to insanity from her desires. She's rarely happy, but when she is, she's bound to show it off in the craziest ways.

Amburgey likes to study the neurological parts of the virus, and seems to show quite a bit of sympathy for the infected; after all they were once like her, and it's almost as if she can feel the pain they can not. After all, her studies point to them having some sort of trace of their humanity within them

(also she is very autistic)

Maria Koch

Westside Hospital - Plantation, FL

A witness to the Aventura Hospital incident. She's a bit of a luddite, and tries to avoid using the computer whenever possible. She also has very odd dreams, and she claims that a dream she had weeks prior to the incident where she was transformed into a familiar-looking man was a prediction of the outbreak.

More than anything, Koch wants to find a cure despite all evidence pointing that no cure will ever be good enough, and this is generating so much stress its like she's competing with Amburgey

(i accidentally gave her heterochromia :D)

Hernando Ramirez

Palms of Pasadena Hospital - South Pasadena, FL

- It may not show, but this guy's been killing it at his game for years. He even treated Dr. Amburgey for norovirus when she was little during a Florida vacation gone sour, before she became the jaded, insecure woman we know her as now.

Granted, the hospital was mainly self-serve, but he promises to "lock the fuck in" as Dr. Amburgey says. He just acts like a general nurse, checking in on the clones similarly to Dr. Amburgey and "Jennie". Sometimes this even extends to other nurses -- Koch seems to particularly concern her, as she frequently forgets to eat or sleep in the name of research

Ethan Hunter

North Florida Regional Medical Center - Gainesville, FL

Dr. Amburgey's cousin-in-law, this former paramedic is now taking care of incidents all around the hospital and metropolitan area, from St. Cloud to Orlando, (the ones at the amusement parks are the most horrific usually)

Sometimes he brings other nurses along, especially his cousin Sophia.

{REDACTED] Smith

Aventura Hospital and Medical Center - Aventura, FL

WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT HIM.

He manages the software for the project and nobody knows how the fuck he got in. We're too scared to fire him

JENNIE BARRETT

Mercy Hospital - Miami, FL

Although Jennie dons the nurse uniform, you're more likely to find her working the gift shop.

Inspired by the "deirty girls" of Hugo Weaving's fandom, Jennie is fucking insane. I mean, she sacrificed her brother just to work as a GIFT SHOP CLERK. She also seems to be be living off of pot brownies because there's no way she acts like that regularly. She also has an affinity for things like Strawberry Shortcake and Sanrio; she's a Hello Kitty girl to her very core! She also has a pretty sweet Build-A-Bear collection, and Dr. Amburgey seems to get along with her wonderfully

Jennie also seems to have something wrong with her as well, as she's getting herself into dangerous situations just to spend time with the infected.

Damian Madison

There's something suspicious about him too?

This shaggy emo-looking boy is Dr. Amburgey's best friend and partner in crime. He's stuck cleaning rooms most of the time

Sarah Edmonton

Central Florida Regional Hospital - Sanford, FL

Sarah can't catch a break, can she? A highly desirable target for the infected, she tries to work as a receptionist in the lobby, as far away from the clones as possible. They assimilated her family, and she's very likely the next up.

Ayrton Ivanov

Barista

Ayrton is a very curious young man, and the only human employee at the coffee shop. He loves to nerd out over cars, and he's got some decent art skills too, drawing mint kitties, characters to cheer you up while you cope with the fact that your Smith-infected daughter forgot who you were and lashed out. Some nurses have very ermmm...impressive collections.

[oceangirl24]

Saudade: "I Never Sang for My Father"

"Nothing good ever happens to Shawn Hunter" was so ingrained in him he often felt that someone had written his life story in such a way as to doom him to a never-ending cycle of misery.

The reality was somewhere in his life when he was very young, someone had put this idea into his head. The memory was vague, but he remembered a teacher had spoken these words over him. It was perhaps not those exact words and was more like "nothing good has happened to Shawn Hunter" or "nothing good will happen to Shawn Hunter" that was actually said. Whatever the original phrase was, it stuck in his head as "nothing good ever happens to Shawn Hunter".

And it was so apart of his core that he was undeserving of good things happening to him that he lived it out for over 30 years. In those moments when something good did happen to him, he was unable to accept it and, in most cases, actively rejected it.

Just like he'd rejected Jon for so long.

The ultimate good.

Shawn sighed and let his chin drop to his chest. When he looked up again, Chet Hunter stood in front of him, looking very much alive.

He froze in shock.

He hadn't seen Chet since he'd been home.

His biological father leaned lazily against the couch. His plaid shirt unbuttoned down to the fourth button so that his white beer-stained t-shirt showed. These shirts were tucked into faded blue jeans.

Chet stared at him with glassy eyes.

"So now you know what happened to Teach," he said in a gruff, almost accusatory tone.

Shawn narrowed his eyes at the apparition. "Yeah, I do."

The corner of Chet's mouth twitched. "You happy now?"

"Gettin' there."

Chet stared at him impassively. "Tell me, Shawnie, is Mr. Perfect, Joe Cool, everything you imagined him to be?"

Shawn didn't know how to respond.

When Chet showed up post-death, he was always humble and contrite with a wisdom and grace he did not have in life.

The snippy, critical bite to his words now threw him off.

When he didn't answer, Chet threw up his hands. "You wish he'd been your dad instead of me don'tcha?" He swore at Shawn. "I did the best I could for you, Shawnie! I had my own problems. You weren't the only one who never had nothing good happen to him. You think life was easy for me? It wasn't! I did all I could do. Couldn't do nothing else."

This is what Chet was like when he was alive, making every situation about him and never taking responsibility for anything he did. Shawn's eyes narrowed as the old familiar feelings of anger, resentment, hurt, and fear rose up in him.

"Yes, you could've," he snapped back.

Chet's glared at him. "How?"

"You could've come back and talked to me, told me the truth- that you were happier without a wife and kid. Happier with the alcohol than with me. Then you could've left me with someone who cared about me!"

Chet swore again and turned away. When he looked back, his eyes were red-rimmed and angry. "You adored him! He could give you things I couldn't. I could never compete with Teach. But you were my kid! I deserved the adoration you gave him."

Shawn paused and reminded himself that this was not the real Chet. However, that fact made this encounter even more confusing as he was no longer in control of it.

Chet was going off script.

Way off script.

And it pulled his thoughts past Katherine and losing Audrey to losing Jon. Those feelings that had been dredged up from the depths of him exploded through the surface.

"Then why did you agree to let them adopt me and then come back and say no?! Why did you let me go to New York to get Mom and then lie to me about Dad and that nurse?!"

His words hit Chet and instantly drained all color from him. He withered into a sick old man. "You callin' him Dad now? You gave him my name?" His voice was weak and trembling. "That's why, Shawnie. Without the stories I had nothin'. You loved him more. Stories were all I had to keep you with me."

Read the Rest:

AO3 FFN WattPad

[starmocha]

You're amazing for replying to my ask about the dads being their kids best friend. I wrote that in a hurry and the grammar mixed with my english just clashed against each other 😭😭😭😭

but yeah, it's not cute at all. I'm still livid about a raf hc that said he'd suggest formula to feed the baby even though mc was totally healthy and producing a lot of milk but he'd get jealous of the baby on her boobs.

WHAT????

like, he'd be mesmerized 'cause it's the woman he's loved his entire life literally feeding his child and it'd be the most beautiful thing in the world to him. he'd probably sketch them in that moment, hell, he'd document the entire pregnancy in his sketchbook. He sees beauty in so many things, especially when it comes to mc.

There's headcanon and there's gross mischaracterization. All of the boys would see their kids as the most precious gift they've ever received and they'd thank mc all the time for it. They wouldn't compete or complain.

Caleb is falling victim to this now and it sucks. It's why I sent you that message. The way he acts with his little co-pilot is exactly how I pictured him as a dad. He'd never ever be jealous of his child. That's his baby, that's the proof all of his dreams came true.

Sorry for ranting like this. It's my fault for venturing through twitter 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh please, I feel like Raf is team boobies, he would delight in seeing his child nursing from MC's boobs 🙂 have you seen my responses in other asks about Raf teasing his baby Coral about how lucky he is to be latching onto MC's pretty boobies whenever he wants lol his little freeloading fishie lol

Doesn't matter if you're the father or the mother, being jealous of your children is a toxic trait and I will die on this fucking hill. I do take this matter a little more seriously, because it is a very real thing that happens IRL and there's just nothing endearing or funny about it to me :|

Not my apple hubby too 😔 I'll be honest, I've been avoiding many hcs when it comes to Caleb. They lean in too much to "pathetic loser", "panty-sniffing pervert", "crazy yandere" etc. etc. and it's just...a caricature of his personality at this point. Many of them feel almost cartoonish and it's just...sad. There are so many layers to his character (and his relationship with MC), but I feel like many people enjoy either oversexualizing him or vilifying him. 😔😔😔

sorry I am also very sensitive and defensive when it comes to Caleb, more so than with Sylus and Zayne. I feel like he's suffered so many backlashes for no reason and the character assassination is just the tip of the iceberg for me

I know Twitter can be such a toxic place. I don't mind if you feel the need to rant here. I always try to do my best with staying true to the characterizations of all of the characters. I'm also very transparent about admitting where I feel less confident (Xavier and Rafayel), but I'm still mindful of staying true to their core selves, because at the end of the day, I don't want their loyal fans to be upset, and I know the frustration that comes when someone doesn't seem to care about your favorite character. lol my mini Caleb spiel

[practically-an-x-man]

Person A introduced person B to person C and starts getting anxious when the two of them get along because person A is scared of no longer being needed by B and C.

Ooooh it's giving Eris for sure. Nothing like the unshakeable immortal metahuman wondering if they've lost the one connection they deem important...

____ A Fool's Errand

Word Count: 2.2k Content Warnings: arguments, brief depiction of graphic injury ____

Eris could not remember the last time he'd felt jealous.

It wasn't an emotion he dealt with often. After all, it was so... unnecessary. Jealousy, at the core of it, stemmed from the feeling that she wasn't good enough, and Eris was more than comfortable with who she was. Either people enjoyed her company or they didn't - and those that did were usually either reckless or terminally stupid. When they turned their interest elsewhere, it was often a very good thing.

And besides that, being immortal did strange things to a person's self-image. In their life, Eris had been revered as a god as much as they'd been resented as a plague on humanity. Any personal connection was fleeting - she could spend a whole eighty years with a person, or even more, to the upper limits of the human lifespan, and it would still be little more than a flicker against her immortal life. And so there was no point in jealousy. Eris was... Eris. That was all.

But she was beginning to wonder if she'd made a mistake.

"Rick Flag, meet Robert DuBois. I have a feeling you'll get along."

It made sense, in theory. Perhaps a bit too much sense. They were both war-types, soldiers, with the same incredible competence in battle. They had the same strong sense of justice - though Eris knew their view on justice was perhaps a bit skewed. And Rick's practicality, his desire to cause no more harm than he felt he was due... Eris had never fully understood that, but she saw the same in DuBois.

He expected them to get along. He expected them to have each other's backs out in the field, a strong partnership. Eris wouldn't touch a gun for the life of her, but DuBois would - he'd protect Rick from long-range threats in ways Eris herself couldn't.

It made sense. A bit too much sense.

They'd been chattering on for the better part of half an hour, nursing their beers in a too-crowded dive bar five miles from the military base. Eris could feel the hackles rise in soldiers all around her, pent-up emotion released under the influence of alcohol. The sensation of conflict around her was twice as intoxicating as the glass of brandy in her hand.

Experimentally, he grabbed a steak knife and dragged the blade across his palm. The wound sealed practically before the blood had even begun to well. He didn't think they were nearing a bar brawl tonight - though he'd witnessed plenty, in places like this - but the ambient discord in the air was more than enough to sharpen his senses and accelerate his healing.

Normally, a discussion of weapons would have excited them. They could go on and on about poleaxes and kusarigamas and the unexpected deadliness of the Indian chakram for hours. But the conversation, of course, had veered into calibers and ammunition instead, semi-automatic versus fully automatic, a vast array of factors that Eris didn't have the slightest clue how to decipher.

The last time he'd touched a gun in anything less than disgust had been back in the 1890s, when the novelty of the automatic pistol still outweighed his budding hatred of the machines. So she stayed silent. She had nothing to add to the conversation. Something veering on irritation had begun to weave in gossamer threads through her chest.

"Eris thinks guns lack finesse." The mention of their name pulled them back into focus, and they shot a lukewarm glare at Rick.

"Don't presume to think you can put words in my mouth, Flag." It came out sharper than usual, and Rick's eyebrows jumped up his forehead before he recovered.

"But I'm not wrong, am I?"

"No. Guns are cheap." Eris muttered, turning their eyes from Rick to DuBois beside him, "Honor in war comes from knowing your victims. It comes from understanding whose life it is you're taking, from watching the light leave their eyes and recognizing the gravity of what you've done. There is nothing honorable about shooting a piece of metal across a field and looking away before the body falls. If you cannot witness the death you cause, you don't deserve to carry a weapon at all."

"That's... shockingly poetic." DuBois remarked, then lifted his half-empty class of beer, "I'll drink to that."

"Nobody asked you."

That earned him another eyebrow-raise from Rick, though he lifted his glass and joined in DuBois' toast. Eris pointedly abstained. The instant his glass was down, Rick was twisting around to scan the bar around him - looking for whatever argument or fight it was that had Eris so riled up. He didn't seem to realize it was right in front of him.

"Presume to think," DuBois echoed after a few too many heartbeats of silence, "That's a bit redundant, yeah?"

Oh, how lovely. He thought he could play Rick's game.

"I don't suppose your mother tongue is Aramaic? I don't suppose you've spoken a hundred different languages in your life?" Eris hissed, "Forgive me if my understanding of modern English is flawed."

"Christ. You certainly do live up to the reputation," DuBois remarked, sounding halfway between amused and disquieted. Another moment, and he'd shrugged it off with a brief flash of teeth, nudging Rick with an elbow. "How'd you land this one, 'ey Flag?"

"Guess I was just in the right place at the right time." he responded with a faint smile. There was something fond in his expression, and Eris rolled his eyes.

"Don't get sappy." she muttered, lifting her glass to down the rest of her brandy in a single swallow. It would do nothing for her. Especially in a room like this. His healing would nullify the alcohol practically before it even hit his stomach. But it gave her an excuse not to speak, if only for a moment.

"So you think guns require no skill," DuBois remarked, then lifted his glass and finished off his beer, "With how familiar you seem to be with Flag, I'm surprised-"

"Rick is an excellent gunman," Eris cut him off, resisting the urge to bare his teeth like an animal, "I never said guns lack skill, I said finesse. A lucky swordsman wins his first battle and no more. A lucky gunman causes just as much damage as an expert shot. And there's a reason they describe traditional combat as martial arts. In all the history of guns, there has only been one person who's successfully captured artistry with a firearm. Only one."

"Rick?" DuBois guessed, shooting him a sidelong glance. Rick chuckled into his glass.

"Annie Oakley," he corrected dryly. Eris felt a brief surge of pride. Rick knew him well - hadn't even hesitated in his response, the answer was that simple.

"Shooting holes into the hearts on a playing card, shooting a coin once it was tossed into the air, blowing out candle-flames with a single bullet..." Eris continued, "There was artistry in what she did. Nobody I've seen has been able to replicate that level of precision and skill."

"Hm. S'pose I can agree with that one," DuBois agreed. For a moment, they thought he was about to propose another half-witted toast. He didn't, though he tilted his head as another idea hit him. "How about a bet?"

"A bet?" Eris repeated, curiosity airing on suspicion at the words.

"Yeah. A bet." he said, lifting his glass to finish off his beer. He tilted his empty glass at Eris, "If I can shoot the heart out of a playing card, like Annie Oakley, you pick up a gun and learn how to shoot."

Eris considered it. He did love a good challenge. And he could imagine the look on DuBois' face when- if he won the challenge and she shot a whole magazine of bulls-eyes into her target. They knew how to use guns. After several hundred years around them, they were actually quite adept. His disdain of the instruments did not come with a lack of practice. And DuBois was far from the first to propose this sort of challenge.

"Very well..." they agreed, firing him a lukewarm stare, "You will use a .22 caliber. For true accuracy, you would use a 1892 Winchester Model 1873, but I imagine that would be difficult to find, so a modern equivalent will suffice. You will shoot exactly through the heart, with none of the card damaged outside the red ink. You will shoot only one bullet. You will shoot from no closer than ninety feet."

"You want me to recreate her shot exactly," DuBois concluded. Eris nodded.

"Best of luck," they said, voice icy, "You'll quickly realize she was the best of her kind. Attempting to mimic her is a fool's errand."

"So you're calling me a fool."

"The fact that you feel the need to confirm what I thought was a fairly obvious implication doesn't exactly play in your favor," Eris pointed out, with another cool glare. He caught just a glance at Rick's face and found an uneasy sort of conflict there. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Well," DuBois said, firing her a grin that was all too sharp. It was the first thing all night that had made him respect the man. He slid out of his seat, dark eyes almost matching Eris' own with their spark of competition. "I'd better get to it, then. See you around, Flag."

"Yeah, we should be heading out too," Rick agreed, "Early start n' all."

His posture was oddly guarded as the two of them left the bar. He hardly spoke until they reached his truck. Rick slid into the driver's seat, but didn't even reach for the ignition until Eris had hopped into the passenger's seat beside him.

"What the hell was going on back there?" Rick huffed, twisting around to give them a stern look.

"I don't know what you're referring to." Eris huffed, her voice smooth and cool like a snake in damp grass.

"Yes, you do. You're not usually so mean."

"Mean? I'm the goddamn personification of strife, Rick, I-"

"Yeah, and you were being an asshole back there. Much more than usual." Rick cut them off. He did not look happy. Eris rolled his eyes.

"If my being mean bothers you so much, why don't you go back to chatting away with your new friend DuBois? You definitely seemed to get along," Eris snapped, regretting the words the instant they left his mouth. Not because they were sharp - Rick could take her fire, he always had, that was what she liked about him - but because they reflected so much on her.

Sure enough, Rick's expression shifted. The irritation on his face softened, and realization bloomed in its wake.

"Are you jealous of him?"

"Please. You'll both be long gone before we reach the next century. There's no point in jealousy." Eris muttered, ignoring the unpleasant coiling in the base of their stomach.

"You shouldn't be," Rick added, seemingly oblivious to their response. He looked them dead in the face and didn't waver, fixing them with those amber-hazel eyes, "I mean, yeah- he's a good man. Knowledgeable about what he does. But you're still my number one, wartime. Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

The words made something warm and quiet flicker through his chest, but Eris didn't let any of that show on his face.

"Why don't you save the slumber party chatter for Mister Military back there?"

"If I'm having a slumber party at all, it ain't with him, doll," Rick shot back, baring her a lopsided grin, "Or would you rather I don't drive us back to my apartment?"

"Our apartment." Eris mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Do you get bills I don't know about?" he pointed out, "My apartment. That I let you stay in, because I don't want you wandering around in the open, where you could get in trouble. Because you're stronger when you're fed and rested, and I can do that for you. Because you're my number one, and DuBois' never gonna take that spot from you. So there's no need to be jealous."

"I told you, I'm not fucking jealous."

"Fine. You're not jealous. You're an impenetrable shell without feelings. All you know is war, and all that." Rick muttered, rolling his eyes. He finally fired up the ignition, and the truck roared to life around them. "Let's just get home- get back."

He didn't say anything else. He pulled the car out of the parking lot and sped down the road in silence, almost glaring out the windshield. The speedometer crept up and up, only plateauing when his old truck began to slip into its front-wheel shimmy.

It was clear, abundantly clear, that he wasn't pleased. And it was bordering on unsafe. Normally Eris wouldn't have cared - a car crash, even a bad one, would only give him a few minutes of pain before his body healed. But he had the sudden, all-too-vivid image of Rick's blood spattered across the windshield, his body broken in strange and unnatural ways, his hazel eyes glazed and dull. It made them shudder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shuddered at a thought of death.

"Rick?"

"What." he huffed, in a voice just as tight as his posture.

"Can you put your seatbelt on?"

[sepublic]

Your brotherhood members as THE Makuta reinterpretations are soooo fascinating

Your bit about Chirox being the hand that Mocs and comparing him to smash bro's master hand gave me a thought

Mutran is the crazy hand to Chriox's master hand

And to tie them into lego symbolism like you've been trying to do, both hands are competing ideas about how a Moc should be constructed, constantly dueling to see what works and what doesn't

(Mutran would probably also represent illegal building techniques too)

OHOHO I love this idea so much! And I guess if there's a Master Core equivalent, it's the Antidermis released, paying homage to Teridax's MNOG form as well!

Yeah, this works perfectly because Mutran and Chirox have always been joined at the hip, always been a duo, the trope of the artists with competing visions. I have little doubt that this connection was inspired when Greg realized how similar the two look, after all...

While Chirox's Rahi are more of a destructive, mean-spirited vibe, Mutran's are more... experimental. Weird. Absurd. Still agonizing and unfair to the victims he disassembles, but you can sort of respect what he's going for here. Neither of these philosophies are sustainable, and must be stopped however.

So YES to that idea of Mutran being illegal building techniques, while Chirox is willing to be more pragmatic, function over form; Hence being represented by a swarm of spiders, whereas Mutran wants to put in time and effort into each creation, quality over quantity. So Chirox is creating the mass-produced enemies, the ones for whom there are multiple instances of, while Mutran makes the unique one-of-a-kind bosses (Which is meta since they were respectively a canister and Titan set). I actually have a post comparing these two characters and their philosophies from a while back, which ties into this interpretation.

Them being separate hands of the same entity is also a lot of fun. I intended for Makuta in this universe to seemingly be a spider-like entity, only for it to be revealed that what our heroes have been fighting is just his hand, in an Alaskan Bullworm twist. The full titan this hand is connected to resembles Chirox's depiction in G1... But we can also have it resemble Mutran with this 'Crazy Hand' addition, because again; These two already looked similar, so it doesn't require much change.

Maybe we could go with the idea that one hand is named Chirox, the other is named Mutran; Both offshoots of a larger, mutual entity known as Makuta! A nice reference to their shared title and heritage from G1. I wonder how the introduction of a second Makuta would turn out; Maybe there are scenes showing Makuta tearing things apart to make all sorts of weird stuff, but eagle-eyed viewers will note that the asymmetrical design seems flipped sometimes, and that there's a correspondence between what we see each angle of Makuta create.

We get the classic "There are twins" reveal, and after both hands are beaten, individually and/or together, the whole lair collapses to reveal the monster they're attached to; Their mutual true form, which takes back the title of Makuta in clarification. While his hands are differentiated as Mutran and Chirox afterwards... Two sides of the same coin, or rather entity. Kind of like how MNOG Makuta is implied to just be the destructive side to Mata Nui's chaos, so maybe the brothers are just personalities/design philosophies for the same Great Spirit Robot?

So we bring back the idea of Makuta having a brother he hates and is jealous of... Except this brother isn't good either, so maybe the heroes get them to fight each other, and/or Mutran and Chirox manage to put aside their differences to focus on these pesky heroes! Like in G1...

(When all is said and done, we cut to Will Ferrell tenderly nursing his hands as a Stepping on Lego joke is made, but for hands instead of feet.)

[teenidleadultgirl]

if you really enjoy social justice and want to work in healthcare, i highly, highly, highly recommend nursing as an option. the entire point of the career is to be the "middle manager" in between the physician and patient. nurses are the ones who advocated for patient-centered care, for example. nurses are the ones advocating for cultural competency as a core tenet of the practice. nurses literally exist to care for the patient, meaning they act as the patient's advocate.

it's also one of the most affordable options (textbooks not included in this statement fuck the college textbook industry they're trash) and there are sooooooo many opportunities within the field to pioneer further research and care standards, particularly in gerontology which is experiencing a crisis that is only going to get worse.

[laurencna]

Leading Certified CNA Classes in Maryland 2024: Your Guide to Success and Career Advancement

Top Certified CNA Classes in Maryland 2024: Your Guide to Success and⁢ Career Advancement

Are you considering a rewarding career in healthcare? Becoming a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) in Maryland is an excellent way to begin your journey ​in the medical field. With the increasing demand for healthcare professionals, earning your CNA certification can open doors to numerous ‍opportunities.⁤ In this comprehensive guide for⁢ 2024, you’ll discover the top certified CNA classes in Maryland, how to choose the right program, the benefits of certification, practical tips for success, and⁣ inspiring case studies that illustrate career growth.

Why Choose a Certified CNA Program in Maryland?

Becoming a⁣ Certified Nursing Assistant in maryland not only provides a fulfilling career helping others but also offers numerous benefits,⁢ such as job stability, competitive wages, and ‌a pathway to further healthcare education. Certified ⁢CNA programs adhere to state-mandated standards,⁤ ensuring you receive quality training⁤ essential for your career and for providing safe patient ‌care.

key ​Factors When Choosing CNA Classes in Maryland

Accreditation and Certification: Ensure the program is⁢ approved⁤ by MarylandS ⁢Board of Nursing and provides CNA certification upon completion.

Program Duration: Most programs range from 4-12 weeks; select one that fits your schedule.

Location: Choose ‍classes close to your‌ home or ⁣work for convenience.

Cost‌ and Financial Aid: Look⁣ for ​affordable programs‌ with financial aid options or⁢ scholarships.

Reputation ⁢and Reviews: Research alumni feedback and program success rates.

Top Certified CNA Classes in ⁣Maryland for 2024

Below are some of the leading CNA training programs recognized for their quality, comprehensive curriculum, and high certification pass rates in Maryland. These programs prepare students effectively for ​the Maryland CNA exam and for a successful career ‌in ​healthcare.

Program‍ Name

Location

Duration

Cost

Highlights

Maryland Medical Training Center

Baltimore

6⁣ Weeks

$1,200

State-approved curriculum, flexible scheduling

Healthcare Career Center

Rockville

8 ⁣Weeks

$1,000

job⁣ placement assistance, experienced instructors

Community ‌College⁤ of Baltimore County

Baltimore County

4-6 Weeks

$950

Affordable tuition, academic support

MedTech Institute

Annapolis

7 Weeks

$1,300

Hands-on clinical practice, certification prep

Explore Healthcare Academy

Silver Spring

5-8 Weeks

$1,100

Community-based focus, flexible evening classes

Benefits of Certified CNA Certification in Maryland

High Demand: Healthcare facilities across Maryland are constantly seeking qualified CNAs.

Entry into Healthcare: ⁤ Certification is ⁣a stepping stone for nursing programs and advanced healthcare careers.

Competitive⁣ Salary: Average⁢ CNA​ wages in Maryland range‌ from $30,000 to $40,000 annually,with potential for raises and bonuses.

Flexible ⁢Work ​Schedules: Many CNA positions offer‌ flexible shifts, ideal for students or working parents.

Personal Fulfillment: ⁣Making a difference in ⁢patients’ ​lives is a core benefit of this healthcare role.

Practical Tips for Success in Your CNA Program

Stay committed: Attend all classes and clinical sessions punctually.

Practice ‌Skills Regularly: Hands-on practice​ enhances confidence and competence.

prepare for ⁤the State​ Exam: Use study guides, practice tests, and review materials thoroughly.

Seek Support: Join ‍study groups or ask instructors for guidance when needed.

Maintain Compassion and Professionalism: Empathy and respect are crucial when caring for patients.

Case Study: From CNA ⁢to Nursing Professional

Jessica’s ‌journey in Maryland

Jessica, a⁤ young woman from Baltimore, enrolled in ⁣a ‌Maryland certified CNA program in early 2023.After completing⁣ her 6-week⁤ course at‌ Maryland Medical Training Center, she passed her⁤ certification exam on the first try.Her experiance as a CNA allowed her to gain practical skills and ⁢patient interaction experience,which inspired her to pursue a Licensed Practical⁣ Nurse (LPN) program ⁣thereafter.Today, Jessica works as an LPN, earning higher wages and taking on‌ more responsibilities. her story illustrates how starting as a CNA in Maryland can⁤ lead to a thriving healthcare career with ongoing education and⁣ growth opportunities.

Final Thoughts: Your ⁢Path‌ to a Promising Healthcare Career in Maryland

Choosing the ​right certified CNA class in Maryland is a crucial first ⁣step‍ toward a rewarding ​healthcare career. By ‍selecting a ‍reputable program, preparing diligently, and dedicating yourself to learning, you⁢ set a solid foundation for success.The demand for cnas remains strong ⁤statewide, making now an excellent time to start. Remember, your compassion, skills, and ⁤dedication can truly make a ‍difference in patients’​ lives-and open doors to future healthcare opportunities.

Start Your CNA Journey Today!

Ready to take the next step? Research ⁤the programs listed above, visit campuses if possible, and reach out to admission counselors.​ With commitment and the right training,you’ll be well on​ your way to becoming a certified CNA in Maryland in 2024. ‍Your healthcare career awaits!

https://trainingcna.org/leading-certified-cna-classes-in-maryland-2024-your-guide-to-success-and-career-advancement/

[alicevgcna]

Important Guide to CNA Training: Kickstart Your Healthcare Career Today

Essential​ Guide to CNA Training: Kickstart Your Healthcare Career Today

Embarking on a career as a Certified ⁤Nursing⁣ Assistant (CNA) is an excellent way to enter the healthcare ​industry. CNA ​training provides the foundational skills needed to care for patients, support healthcare teams, ‍and enjoy‍ a⁤ rewarding⁤ professional journey. Weather your just starting‍ out ⁣or considering a career change, this comprehensive guide⁣ will walk you through everything you need to know about CNA training, from prerequisites to practical tips for success.

Introduction

Choosing a⁣ career in healthcare is both commendable ⁣and rewarding.Certified ​Nursing ‍Assistants play a ⁣vital role ⁣in patient care, often acting as the frontline caregivers in ⁤hospitals, nursing homes,⁣ and ⁣home health settings. ‌Getting started as a CNA involves completing specific ⁢training programs, ‍passing certification exams, and meeting state ​regulations. ‌This guide aims to simplify the process,highlight key⁤ benefits,and offer practical advice ​for aspiring ​CNAs eager to⁢ launch their healthcare career today.

What is ⁣a Certified nursing ⁢Assistant (CNA)?

A ⁤Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA), also known ⁤as a Nursing Assistant or Patient ​Care Technician, provides‍ essential‍ care to patients under the⁤ supervision⁤ of registered⁤ nurses (RNs) and licensed ⁤practical nurses (LPNs).Their duties​ include ⁤assisting with daily activities like bathing, ‍dressing, feeding, and⁣ mobility, alongside monitoring vital signs and maintaining patient ​comfort.

Key Responsibilities ​of a ⁤CNA

Assisting⁢ patients with personal hygiene and grooming

Helping patients with mobility and exercise

Monitoring and ‌recording vital signs (temperature, blood ‌pressure, pulse)

Supporting emotional and social needs of patients

Cleaning and maintaining ‍patient​ rooms and equipment

Reporting patient observations​ to medical staff

Why is CNA Training Vital?

CNA training is the ‌foundation⁤ of a prosperous healthcare career.it ensures that⁣ aspiring​ CNAs‍ are ‌equipped with the essential skills to provide safe, compassionate, and competent⁢ patient care. Proper⁢ training not onyl ⁢boosts confidence but also is a legal requirement for certification in most states. additionally, high-quality CNA programs can open doors to ‌advanced healthcare roles and further educational opportunities.

How to become a ‌Certified Nursing​ Assistant

Here ⁤is a ‍straightforward roadmap⁣ to kickstart your journey to becoming a CNA:

Meet Basic Eligibility Requirements: Typically, a high school diploma or equivalent is necessary. Some programs may require ‍background checks ​or health screenings.

Enroll in a ​state-Approved ⁤CNA⁣ Training Program: Choose⁤ a program accredited by your ⁤state’s ​health department or nursing ‌board.

complete the Required Training Hours: Programs usually involve 75-120⁢ hours, combining​ classroom ​instruction and supervised ‌clinical practice.

Pass the Certification Exam: This exam assesses your knowledge and practical‍ skills through written and ⁤clinical components.

Apply for‌ CNA Certification: ⁣ Submit your​ exam results and⁤ application to your state’s nursing board.

Maintain Certification: Complete ongoing education or renewal requirements as mandated by your state.

CNA Training Program Overview

Understanding what a typical⁤ CNA training program entails can help you prepare better.Here’s a ⁢breakdown of core components:

Component

Description

Classroom Instruction

Fundamentals⁣ of patient care, infection control, dialog⁣ skills, and anatomy

practical Skills Lab

Hands-on practice ‌in procedures ‍like taking vital signs, bathing, and feeding

Clinical Rotations

Supervised work in healthcare settings to gain ⁣real-world experience

Assessment &​ Certification

Written and practical exams to evaluate competency before certification

Practical Tips to succeed​ in CNA Training

Stay Organized: ⁣ Keep track of coursework, clinical ​schedules, and exam dates.

Practice skills ⁣Regularly: Repetition⁢ enhances confidence and proficiency ⁤in clinical procedures.

Ask Questions: Don’t hesitate to seek⁤ clarity from instructors or clinical supervisors.

Develop⁣ Empathy: Compassionate patient care is at ‌the heart of‌ being⁣ an effective‍ CNA.

Maintain⁢ Professionalism: Punctuality,neatness,and respectful communication are crucial.

Prepare for the Certification Exam: Use ​study guides and practice exams to boost your readiness.

Benefits‌ of Becoming ⁢a‍ Certified Nursing Assistant

Rapid entry into Healthcare: ‍CNA‍ programs typically last ‍a few weeks to a few months,allowing swift entry into the workforce.

Job ‌Stability and demand: The healthcare industry is projected⁣ to grow,increasing employment opportunities⁤ for CNAs.

Groundwork for ⁤Advanced Careers: CNA experience provides a⁤ stepping stone toward roles ⁣like LPN,​ RN, or healthcare administrator.

Personal Fulfillment: Making a tangible⁢ difference​ in patients’ lives fosters a ​profound sense of purpose.

Flexible Work Environments: ​ Opportunities in hospitals, ⁢nursing homes, clinics, and home health agencies.

Case Study: From CNA ⁢Training to‌ Healthcare Professional

Meet Lisa: ⁤A recent ‌graduate of CNA training, Lisa started⁣ her career working in a nursing home. She ⁤dedicated herself to clinical ‍practice,earning high marks on her certification exam. After gaining experience, Lisa pursued further education to become an LPN, then RN. Today, she works as a registered nurse, overseeing ⁤patient care and mentoring new CNAs.

This case showcases how robust⁣ CNA ​training‍ can serve ⁣as a launchpad for ​sustained career growth in healthcare.

First-Hand ‌Experience and Testimonials

“Completing​ my CNA training was challenging‍ but incredibly rewarding. The⁤ hands-on clinical⁤ experience taught me so much about ⁢patient care and teamwork,” shares Sarah, a recent CNA graduate. “It opened​ doors for ‍me to explore further educational opportunities,‌ and ‍now I work‌ confidently​ in a hospital​ setting.”

Conclusion

If you’re passionate ⁢about helping ‌others and​ eager to enter the healthcare field quickly, ‌CNA training is the perfect ​starting point. ⁣Not only ‍does it provide you with vital skills and certification, but ⁤it also offers a‍ fulfilling career with⁤ growth potential. Remember to choose an accredited program, stay committed to your training, and‍ leverage practical tips for success. Your journey‍ to making a meaningful difference in people’s lives​ begins today!

Start Your healthcare Journey ​Today

Research accredited CNA training programs in your area, prepare diligently, and take the first ​step⁣ toward ⁣an exciting career in healthcare.‌ With dedication and compassion,‍ you can‌ make a real difference as a Certified Nursing Assistant.

https://cnaclassesonline.net/important-guide-to-cna-training-kickstart-your-healthcare-career-today/

[ezinurse]

Best Resources and Programs to Kickstart a Nursing Career

The Growing Importance of Nursing in Today’s World Nursing is one of the most respected and essential professions in the healthcare sector. In a world that constantly battles public health challenges, nurses remain on the frontlines, providing care, comfort, and critical medical support. The demand for trained and skilled nurses is increasing every day, not only in hospitals but also in community health settings, elderly care homes, and emergency units. The path to becoming a competent nurse involves more than just classroom learning; it requires a blend of practical exposure and reliable learning resources. This article focuses on how aspiring professionals can gain the right guidance through proper training and the best materials, with a particular emphasis on nursing study materials and nursing diploma programs.

Building the Right Foundation with Quality Materials Studying nursing is unlike many other fields. It combines medical theory with clinical application, which means students must understand complex subjects while preparing to act quickly in real-world situations. Therefore, choosing the right nursing study materials is crucial for success. These resources often include textbooks, case study guides, mock tests, and video tutorials covering topics such as anatomy, pharmacology, patient care, and disease management. A good set of study materials doesn’t just help in passing exams—it develops the clinical thinking necessary to handle patient scenarios effectively. Students who rely on accurate and updated materials tend to retain concepts longer and perform more confidently during practical training.

The Role of Hands-On Learning in Nursing Theory alone does not make a good nurse. Skills such as administering injections, monitoring vitals, and communicating with patients cannot be learned through reading only. That’s why hands-on learning is vital in nursing education. Clinical practice sessions, simulations, and internships provide students with opportunities to apply what they have learned. Such experiences help reduce errors in real-life care and build trust with patients and healthcare teams. Moreover, practical exposure often reveals areas where students need to study further, making quality learning materials even more essential.

Choosing a Nursing Diploma Program that Suits Career Goals For many aspiring professionals, formal education begins with nursing diploma programs. These programs are designed to give comprehensive knowledge and practical training in a relatively short duration, typically between one to three years. Unlike longer degree courses, diploma programs focus intensely on core nursing skills, making them ideal for individuals looking to enter the workforce quickly. Selecting the right diploma program means considering factors such as curriculum quality, faculty experience, access to hospitals or clinics for practical training, and overall course structure. Programs that maintain a balance between theory and practical exposure help students transition smoothly into professional nursing roles.

Career Opportunities and the Need for Lifelong Learning After completing formal training, nurses can work in multiple healthcare environments. However, the medical field is always evolving, and nurses need to keep their knowledge up to date. Continuing education, advanced certifications, and even short-term workshops help maintain professional relevance. This is where the second mention of reliablenursing study materials becomes crucial. Staying updated with medical advancements and revised treatment protocols is only possible through continuous learning supported by trusted resources. Nurses who invest in ongoing education often find more growth opportunities and earn greater recognition in their fields.

Conclusion Nursing is more than just a job—it’s a commitment to caring for others in their most vulnerable moments. To build a successful career in this field, the right combination of formal training and high-quality resources is essential. Nursing diploma programs provide an accessible and focused path into the profession, while dependable nursing study materials ensure that learners are prepared both for exams and real-life challenges. A useful platform for exploring such resources is ezinurse.com, which provides access to educational tools and information that cater to both beginners and experienced professionals. Ultimately, choosing the right guidance and continuing to learn over time can lead to a fulfilling and impactful nursing journey.