#Doc Watches The Bear

[docholligay]

God. GOD. I am almost certainly going to watch this show, I am having the hardest time not just fucking...watching it straight through and reporting back, right now.

So this works as a literal plot motion, he is annoyed by the sound of the video game (Girl, me too. I would have kicked that shit out of the place I ahve to work already. Can’t stand it.) but then thinks about how they haven’t been emptied, and gets money out of the machine, to buy supplies. Great. Simple.

BUT, this is working in completely different ways. The video game screen that comes up is what comes up after you’ve died, after you’ve failed, and it’s asking if he wants to put more money in to continue, reflecting exactly what’s happening in the restaurant. The game itself is even CALLED ballbreaker, it says on screen ‘Your balls have been broken!” And when Tina says, “You unplug it (out of frustration) itwon’t work again” that ALSO refers to the restaurant. If he calls it and shuts down for awhile, it’s never reopening. It’s game over.

It does all this deftly that you’d be forgiven for not noticing it, the way it is reinforcing through the use of detail the stress and and incredible pressure he’s under. The finality of it all.

[witchofthesouls]

Hey! I saw an earlier post you had about the boys in the grocery store and it got me wondering about how they would react to hunting. I’m a hunter, have been all my life. I hunt deer, boars, ducks, coyotes, turkeys, quails, pheasants, wild Burmese pythons, and I fish locally too (strictly a vermin exterminator and food hunter, I find sports hunting to be distasteful and I strictly use a bow and arrow, no traps or guns as I take issues with those too). I can picture the absolute horror of the TFP or Lost Light bots seeing their/a human skinning and processing an animal that they just hunted for food, they see the modern convinces that are grocery stores so it’s easy to forget where human food actually comes from 😂

Weirdly enough, IDW/MTMTE does have Cybertronian edibles like cesium salami and rust sticks.

But then again, there's a big percentage of the crew members who were produced by the war, so there's a great chance that they didn't get a crash course on things that were deemed "unnecessary," like Cybertronian cuisine and fauna to forage and hunt.

TFP Cybertronians, on the other hand, have Questions.

Get ready to pull up diagrams, manuals, videos, and live demonstrations via YouTube or your own hands because they got the curiosity of two-year-old with the capacity to keep you in their palm for no escape.

Ratchet absolutely hates it. It's too messy and squishy and completely unalike the organized and relatively clean method of converting crystals to fuel. Horrified over the mysteries of hotdogs and how everything can and will kill humans without specific preparations to negate the toxins. Ratchet is boggled over spice challenges and how the hell humanity hadn't died in its infancy over culinary explorations. Someone told him to look up Hákarl.

He takes great displeasure when the kids sass him over Cybertronians eating their own blood. Different. Absolutely different. He clucks over the base kitchen and is not above making things disappear. He argues with June and Agent Fowler over the groceries and fast food bags. Ratchet's crunchy.

Bulkhead actually enjoys fishing. He's more catch and release rather than for keeping and gutting. He likes soaking up the heat of the sun, the sound of running water, birdsong, and insects buzzing, the gear setup and picking out the right lure and bait. It's a different kind of downtime, but it's nice. All he's missing is engex, but he's able to throw a line farther out than anyone else and has the capability to detect motion far greater than an average human. He still wants an engex cube.

Arcee has mixed feelings. She enjoys hunting. Patience, tracking, stealth, and the sense of accomplishment with a clean catch. She likes less the process of handling carcasses, but really hates waste anything that could have been useful. Meat, leather, tools, jewelry, and raw ingredients that could be sold or traded. Arcee just doesn't like sharing something with Airachnid's methods.

Bumblebee's a scout. People expected him to like foraging or the wilds. He prefers domesticated stock. In particular, beekeeping. To him, it represents a more equivalent partnership: he provides accessible resources and safe quarters and the bees yield honey, comb, and wax in return. If the hive don't like him or the area, then they can leave elsewhere.

Optimus is deeply fascinated by how Earth's biodiversity is so immense and how ecosystems are so diverse and complex, yet so fragile. He quietly wishes for Alpha Trion's presence because Optimus is seeing familiar similarities of Cybertronian long gone biomes: wetlands, woodlands, and reefs. The Sea of Rust once was a massive ocean of mineral-laden Energon. It has long since disappeared by the consensus of heavy, unregulated industrialization, but if Earth has the water cycle, ocean currents and belts, and complex system of thermoregulation that replenishes itself, then Cybertron had to have something similar at one point, no?

[pomefioredove]

otaku characters calling reader a normie when i haven't been a normie a day in my life... when will otaku readers be respected... 😔

anon when would you like you and idia's wedding to be

[melfinawins]

The Bear is your fave Hallmark movie/Doc Hollywood (1991) crossover with 1000% more drugs and dysfunction. In all the best ways. But we're not ready for that conversation!

[ainosgarden]

the bear s3 starring even more actual chefs and restaurateurs with actual dialogues about their real life careers......

this is not what i watch this show for... i get enough of that from food docs already... just stop...

[howlongis1instant]

I have a niche opinion and I'm hoping it finds the right people lmao but do you remember the kids show Bear in the Big Blue House? It's one of my safe shows but the stupid pig doctor makes me so mad lmao does anyone remember?

THIS FUCKIN GUY. "DOC HOG"

[oneminutefiftysixseconds]

if i had a cent for every time a big-name rider had a less successful sibling also in the sport i'd have like a hundred euros by now it's some kind of phenomenon

[mossywizard]

I love watching my step sisters dog, but she scares my baby boi so much. I haven’t seen him expect for when I gave him dinner, a little bit of cuddles before, and when he was hiding in his cat tree

This might be normal behavior for some cats, but normally he doesn’t leave me alone ;~;

I do have twoie on my lap so I’m not lost. Twoie is the bravest chilliest tiniest cat

She is not bullied, she is the bully. When Raven got her bed back. Raven started cleaning raven’s eyes and ears and puppy looked at me with these “what the hell is happening” eyes. It was awesome

[trollbreak]

Derrek would also make for a hell of a narrator.

[docholligay]

Kitchens have always been, and continue to be, flush with immigrant cooks. It always makes me laugh when people refuse to go to a Japanese or Indian or whatever restaurant with white servers because it’s “not authentic” or whatever meanwhile smart places hire servers of the ‘correct’ ethnicity while the entire kitchen is Mexican and African and Chinese because people don’t actually know the difference because the ability to cook a cuisine isn’t magically conferred through DNA.

And this is a good thing! Line cooking especially is the kind of thing that most people with the right temperament can be taught to do, it’s a good foot in the door to the culinary world, and, as here, a lot of immigrants can learn English there while perfect English mastery is not often a requirement of the actual job, assuming someone is generally quick on the ball. Also the all-important aspect of American culture ahaha.

Also, in a lot of circles like this one...saying this kind of shit to each other is normal. I have friends who say all kinds of shit to me of a Racial Flavor, if you will, and I wing it right back. Insulting your religion, ethnicity, and country of origin can be a love language ahaha.

[the-kneecap-god]

Ok I’ll stop spam posting hermitcraft lmao

[loljaeyunz]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 | 𝐏𝐒𝐇, 𝐒𝐉𝐘

𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗂𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋.

the sun burns bright, alone and bold, lights up the moon with its endless gold.

READ HERE!

PAIRING: neglected prince!sunghoon x princess!reader

SUMMARY: park sunghoon, the forsaken prince of the south, had always lived in the shadows of jaeyun's favor. but then you arrived. your presence ignited a flame within him that he had long thought extinguished, and he became profoundly attached to you.

but, when the news of your marriage to jaeyun, the very bastard who had usurped everything sunghoon held dear—reached him, his world shattered once again. now, consumed by helplessness and bitter longing, he understands that no matter how desperately you both cling to each other, you are slipping through his fingers. there is nothing he can do but watch as the love you share is slowly pulled away, knowing that no amount of trying can change the fate that’s already been written. but still, he is willing to try.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, forbidden love, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 8k

RELEASE DATE: 12th september

so could the moon can gleam with its lover, stars, their light a whisper of sun's scars.

READ HERE

PAIRING: crown prince!jaeyun x princess!reader

SUMMARY: spending years loving someone who will never see you in the same light is a quiet kind of pain, one that lingers and deepens with time. it is a pain that hurts jaeyun, like a lonely moon forever chasing the night sky, knowing it will never reach the stars. you are always so close to him, yet you remain just out of reach, forever distant. he can only watch as you give your heart and love to another—his brother—while he is left to bear the silent ache of unfulfilled longing.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, arranged marriage, unrequited love, brother rivalry, angst, smut, infidelity (?)

WORD COUNT: 15-20k

RELEASE DATE: tba

TAGLIST: send an ask or comment on this post! only 18+ pls.

a/n: sorry for dumping my shit here but this fic has been sitting in my docs since last year and i think its time to publish. sunghoon's part is already written, but i need to revamp it before the release date. then, i'll dive into jake's part, which im really excited about because all the crazy shit happens there

[nibbelraz]

binghe fights sqh and he gives no indication at being powerful or with martial ability. he realises his mistake in approach. sqh makes himself small, pathetic, and easy to bully so that he is underestimated and ignored. fighting a PERSON will only increase that. well thats fine. mobei he's gonna toss ur human into a deathmatch against beasts rq ok? u wanna watch? if he gets too out of his depth you can step in he wont stop you but he knows you ALSO want to know what that little THANG is capeable of. nature doc mobei and binghe watching sqh in some demon forest. the wild qinghua, pressured out of its natural habitat. without greater predators to form symbiotic relationships with he must fend for himself. there comes the sunburst scorpion tailed bear goat- we shall soon see how the qinghua- OH HOLY SHIT HE RIPPED ITS HEAD OFF MOBEI YOUR SCRUNKLY RIPPED ITS GODDAMN HEAD OFF

THEYRE TAKING HIM OUT OF HIS NATURAL HABITAT AND SPYING ON HIM OH this is good

He didn't know he was capable of it either

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations

Last month I did an in-depth re-watch of rottmnt s1 to take some notes on writing the characters of rise from their perspective and such. Figured I'd share what I found, but I'm also posting this bc my docs have a nasty habit of blipping out of existence.

We'll start with Raph bc he's the oldest of course, but I'll post the others sep. bc this is gonna get long!!

Raph Character Notes

Language Habits:

Catchphrases: "like a boss", "smash"

Verbalizes his attacks such as "smash", "knuckle sandwich", "power smash jitsu", "tonfa power jitsu", "mystic punch jitsu"

Uses older song titles for surprised exclamations or in place of cursing, most notably "jumping jack flash!"

Uses aave/bae, For example: 'em instead of them, 'ey instead of they, 'cause instead of because, forgoes the g in ing words (going becomes goin')

Uses less and less grammar the more he's stressed, and his voice will come to a higher pitch

Will speak in a softer tone to his little brothers if he's concerned about hurting their feelings. Aka babying them

Mixes up both metaphors and idioms. Would be one to say how the turn tables unironically

Does say "hero" a lot, lost count, especially in phrases like "hero town"

Refers to his brothers as "boys" or "fellas"

Refers to Splinter as "pop(s)" most often

Refers to strangers he's directly talking to as "bubs" or "hoss"

Personality:

Protective of his family

Plays up the hero act/has a strong sense of duty and justice

Impatient, rushes in without a plan (pre-movie), doesn't finish books until the end, falls asleep during "boring movies"

Oblivious, doesn't read into things beyond surface level. Struggles with empathy when something is beyond his understanding, but is still very emotional

Center of responsibility for his brothers, but also has a reckless sense of fun. As long as it's him doing the stupid unsafe thing it's fine

Carries the weight, in a literal sense he piggy backs his brothers, but will also use his body as a shield from danger. Unfortunately this also means he takes his brothers a little less seriously (Mikey the most common victim), and will try and either protect them from everything or as an oldest sibling everything has go "his way"

Doesn't do well in solitude. Needs to be looking after people to feel functional, and needs to be around people to feel safe

Clumsy, "takes horrible pictures", isn't very good at hiding, he's a big guy so it probably took a lot of time to find balance

A sweet guy who still won't shy from making fun of his family. Leo tends to be the brunt of his teasing since he is the most annoying, but he will also poke Donnie on his dramatics

Likes cute things!!! Has a teddy bear collection and loves animals. It's so cool how this isn't played off as a joke and he's still just as masculine for liking pink and cutesy stuff

Likes fighting!!! Gets a lot of energy out defeating bad guys (where he directs his anger towards), the one who is shown to train the most, and also weight lifts in his spare time

Doesn't do well under pressure, here the anger comes out the most. He gets stressed when it's all on him, especially since he tends to mess up the most in these moments

Miscellaneous:

Second to unlock mystic powers

Nicknames/codenames: "raph-a-doodle" by leo, "red rover" by april, "red king" by donnie

Teddy bear names: Doctor Huggenstein, Captain Snuggles, Cheech

Stinks: fear stink, amazement stink, sneaking up on people stink, victory stink

Seems to be less afraid of rabbits and more afraid of puppets

Went on his first solo mission at 13

Cannot lift a bus, at age 15

Thought about discussing fighting style, but I'm not as familiar with that concept and I've seen a couple posts dissecting such topic. So we'll end here for now. Hope this was helpful!!! I'll post the rest of the boys later and link here

Leo is up!!

Donnie is up!!

Mikey is up!!

Splinter is up!!

April is up!!

Cassandra is up!!

Baron Draxum is up!!

[mrs-weasley-reid]

HUNDRED TWO POINT THREE

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Synopsis: as they say, in sickness and in health, but Aaron Hotchner seems to take sickness too seriously. WARNING: a whole lot of nada (i hope). all fluff. overprotective!aaron (duh). not proofread !!!! Word Count: 912 A/N: THIS IS A REPOST of a req from my sweet, sweet lumi @egdropsoop when i was sick. i had to mourn accidentally deleting the original post. it felt so heart-wrenching. and i couldn't find the draft in my docs for almost a week, so it was another type of panic and heartbreak. this writer is such a dummy sometimes, but i hope rereading the fic in case it pops in your feed isn't so bad

 This week’s case, by far, has been the most difficult you have yet to experience. 

 Besides the buzzing summer heat of Los Angeles and the loud commotion in each corner of the local precinct, not only did you have to bring back sticky sweat and ringing ears, but you also brought back a mind-numbing body temperature of 102.3 degrees.

 With Emily’s driving and Spencer’s constant rambling, by the time you guys arrive at the airport, your body is creaking with chills and joint pain. 

 “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

 You feel Hotch’s hands lay atop yours, prompting your brows to clash and your head to turn to your side where he towered over you. “What? I’m trying to make tea.” You say disorientedly, breathing quite ragged.

 It’s his turn to knit his brows. “Sounds reasonable, but don’t you think your cup has enough hot water?” You follow where he’s looking at your blushing red hand, steaming with heat. “You’re going to burn your hand at that rate.” He adds, lifting his gaze back at you. 

 He reads you for a moment. Your pinkish cheeks, heavy breathing, and disoriented state told him enough to make a deduction. They tell tales that are similar to those of a small Jack Hotchner after a venture in the rain or dry sweat over a fun visit to the park. 

 “You have a fever,” He informs you sternly.

 “No, I don’t.” Your nose crinkles, shaking his hands off yours and straightening up. The simple movement alone brings your head to spin, pushing you against the counter. You close your eyes, “M’kay, maybe I do.”

 Everything seems fuzzy, but you feel Hotch’s gentle hand over the small of your back, and you’re suddenly being led to one of the two couches in the jet, momentarily seeing a pouting Spencer Reid, woken up from his slumber as he mumbles to another seat.

 Hotch wraps his jacket around yours, squatting in front of you. "Honey, why don't you lay down? Get some shuteye." His voice is gentle in your ears. He squeezes your hand in his while the other brushes away loose strands off your burning face.

 “You okay, mama?” Derek turns from his seat, “Want some cocktail with that fun swirly straw you and Penelope love?” He jokes lightly in hopes that humor will lessen the throbbing in your head.

 “It’s not the time for jokes, Morgan. If you’d like to help, maybe stay quiet in your seat.”

 The entire jet shuts up.

 Emily and JJ’s low whispers halt as they shift their gaze from where Hotch blocks Derek’s view. Spencer tries his best to stifle his laugh, but Rossi only shakes his head.

 “She has a fever, Aaron. Not cancer. Let the lady sleep in peace.” Rossi interjects in defense of the team’s eye candy.

 Hotch ignores him, rolling his eyes. He maneuvers back to the kitchenette in search of some cloth and a bucket to fill with tepid water. 

 Derek settles back in his seat with a look of disbelief, “I thought I was dead for a second.” He mutters under his breath. “He’s gone full papa bear mode on her.”

 They watch as Hotch pulls heaven and hell in your favor. He makes tea. Even finds a can of soup from somewhere in the cabinets, wondering why none of them has ever seen that before. He goes back and forth, placing a cloth over your forehead.

 His goal is to get you out of feverish delirium by the time the jet lands back in Quantico. And Hotch is quite the mission-oriented guy.

 "Aaron..." You mumble almost unheard if only everyone isn't eavesdropping.

 "You need something, hon?" He gently blots the cloth over your face. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, and a rivulet of sweat is over his temple from all the movement he's made in the past ten minutes.

 "Stop fussing and let me sleep, hmm? Go drink some scotch with Dave or something." You shoo him with one hand and steal the cloth from him with the other.

 Hotch shakes his head as if your eyes haven't been shut tight for a while now, prying the cloth off your hand. "Come on, now, sweetheart. I can't just leave you alone." He coos, successfully repossessing the damp fabric.

 It takes a toll on your body when you sit up, yanking the small towel a second time from his grasp, more aggressive this time.

 "Hey, be careful—"

 You raise a hand to shut him up, "Aaron Hotchner. Take a break, or I swear you won't have a bed to sleep in when we get home." You huff, willing your facial muscles to look as intimidating as you possibly can at your state. "And Jack will not side on you. We both know I'm his favorite. So get." You point at Rossi's direction.

 He sighs in defeat, leaving a kiss on the crown of your head. "Fine. But tell me when you need something—"

 "Start walking, Aaron," You shake your head, giving him a stern look.

 The unit chief trudges to the seat next to Rossi, where the older agents offer a glass. Before Hotch can even decline, you voice rings in the jet.

 "You better take that glass."

 He rolls his eyes, but does as you say.

 Everyone fights their will not to burst into laughter, or they just might get pushed off the jet.

hotch masterlist | masterlist

[bzurk]

bits and pieces

Ghost is not a trusting man. His heart has been shattered time and time again from the shock of betrayal, like a stone through a glass wall. The smallest of impacts could shatter his trust irrevocably, quick to shatter and leave behind sharp, dangerous edges, impossible to rebuild.

He watches the medic with an intensity that borders on madness, every movement etched into his mind as if he were committing it to memory. His eyes never leave her as she hunches over Soap, the man he has reluctantly filed under friend/ Her fingers digging into his torn uniform, fighting to keep him upright against the wall. The sight of her so close to him, one of the few men he cares for, so focused, sends a shiver down his spine. Here and now, she is the tether that keeps Soap alive. He is forced to trust her, to trust her abilities, and it makes him sick to his stomach. His muscles long to hold a knife to her neck, to test the give of her skin, to demand she saves the sergeant. Faster, he longs to scream. Work faster. I cannot lose another one.

The air is thick with the stench of blood and cordite, but Ghost barely notices. All his senses are attuned to the medic as she presses her fingers against Soap's neck, her face drawn in concentration. All that matters is Soap's ragged breathing, the medic's steady hands, and his own pounding heart.

It's like a sick dance they're all caught up in, but he sees the steeled determination in her eyes, and he knows, deep down, that he can trust her with Johnny. To Ghost, this moment is about more than the mission. It’s about her, and it’s about Johnny. She holds his heart between life and death in an ethereal balance, one wrong move and they’ll both drop into the abysmal pits of hell. The rhythm of Soap's shallow breathing, her frantic movements, all mix together into a morbid waltz of death and survival. The seconds bleed together, each one taking an eternity to pass, yet flying by faster than bullets through the air.

"Fuck." He hears her mutter under her breath, utterly focused on her work. He’s not scared, not worried. Under her care, he knows Johnny will be fine.

Rain pours down in relentless sheets, soaking through their gear and chilling them to the bone. Ghost barely registers the cold. His focus is solely on the doc, watching as the crimson blood mixes with the cold water, tracing a macabre path down her face and neck. Each shiver is a reminder of her vulnerability, a vulnerability he wants to shield- needs to shield- if she is to work effectively. She winces at the sting of the cold but doesn’t let it deter her from doing her job. Ghost can hear the distant sound of gunfire in the distance where more soldiers are fighting against enemy forces; their voices echoing through comms muffled by the stormy night.

Above, a helicopter hovers, its rotor blades cutting through the rain, creating a maelstrom around them. Ghost’s gaze shifts momentarily to the bird, then back to the medic. He catches her eye, nodding towards the extraction point, but his thoughts are only of her. The way her gaze briefly meets his, the connection that flares between them, fuels his blooming obsession. He sees the weight of Soap's body bearing down on her, the pain etched into her features, and he feels a twisted sense of gratitude and guilt. It looks good on her, the intensity.

But she ignores all of this easily—the deafening noise of the helicopter's blades, the blasts of grenades, and the barrage of bullets. Her only concern is keeping Soap alive. Ghost watches intently as she efficiently rummages through her medkit, marvelling at her precision and speed as she works to save Soap's life; tourniquet, gauze pads, morphine syrette. His heart races in his chest in sync with the raging storm. He’s entranced by her dedication, by the fire in her eyes that refuses to be extinguished.

"Here," she whispers, steadily plunging the syrette into Soap's arm without waiting for his response. Her face is soft, and relaxed, oozing calm and safety despite the blood and rain that stains her face, trying to convey reassurance in her expression where words fail, drowned out by noise. The blood and violence and gore aren’t new to her - she is steady, calm, unfaltering. She double-checks the tourniquet again, and then once more. Holds her ear to Soap’s chest to count the rise and fall. Nods to Ghost.

Ghost has lost everybody important to him. The trauma has etched apathy into his very bones, the scars a physical reminder. He deters anybody that dares creep too close, to protect the fragments of his broken heart. He has built his walls high, topped with barbed wire and made from the strongest concrete. He could count on one hand the people who’d made it past his barricades, and Soap was one of those select few, a determined nuisance who crawled through the barbed wire, ignorant to how it sliced his skin. Ghost supposes the knicks and slices wouldn’t deter a man with such a bleeding heart.

As they hoist Soap to his feet and begin moving towards safety, Ghost grips his sergeant's arm tightly but his eyes never leave the doctor’s. He feels Soap's blood seeping into his gloves and mixing with the rain, staining his hands in violence and desperation. The wind from the chopper's blades whips at their clothes, but all Ghost can see is her—the determination in her eyes, the strength in her slender frame, the blood that stains her vest and gloves and fatigues. She is a guardian angel, descending into chaos and death to bring her soldiers back to life, single-handedly keeping Ghost’s remaining sanity intact. They reach the open bay door and a medic rushes to relieve them of Soap’s weight. Ghost watches her step back, her chest heaving, her face a mask of exhaustion and relief.

Something inside him aches, a feeling he can't quite define—gratitude, obsession, an insatiable need to be closer to her, possess her, and hide her behind the walls of his heart. A gratitude that seeps so far into his bones it becomes a part of him.

As the chopper lifts off, carrying Soap to safety, Ghost stands beside the doctor, the storm still raging around them. He wants to reach out, to touch her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, to spew his endless thanks into her skin until it sinks into her flesh and he can be sure that she knows of his gratitude. The gratitude he feels for her saving Johnny’s life floods him, cementing his new fixation. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s dangerous, but the pull is too strong to resist. He'll do anything to keep her close, this mystery woman who has snuck into his heart with nary a word, anything to protect the doctor who is both his salvation and his undoing.

—

The second time he meets her is in the medical wing, perched upon a stool and diligently writing notes. The room is bright and sterile, simple, illuminated by the warm afternoon sunlight streaming in through the large windows. The white walls and floors gleam under the light, giving the room an almost heavenly glow. The doctor, perched on a stool, is a vision in white. Her long white coat falls in gentle folds around her, and her smile exudes warmth, kindness and safety. The warm rays shine down on her in a halo, illuminating round cheeks and long, delicate lashes.

As Ghost approaches, he can almost feel the warmth radiating from her as if she were a sun. He can see the softness of her skin, almost glowing in the sunlight, and is drawn to it like a magnet. Her hands move gracefully over the pages of her report, the pen gliding smoothly across the paper. Her fingers are long and slender, delicate and dainty with her nails painted a feminine shade of regulation-approved pink. Her form is all soft edges, flowy and gentle, her hair tied back to highlight her face, the hint of a necklace below the collar of her shirt, the joints of her ankles where they cross at the foot of her stool, and even the toe of her flats are rounded.

But Ghost knows better. Moving closer, he notices more. Her smile is a flash of white teeth, light glinting off of white canines - a hint of danger beneath her skin, a tease. A glint of mischief in her eyes, the suggestion of danger beneath her calm facade. The sharp tools and instruments hidden in her coat and outlined in her pockets. The way she brandishes the sharp point of the pen between her fingers, perched precariously on the edge of the page. It’s as if she knows the effect she has on people and enjoys playing with it, toeing the edge precariously.

He’s reminded of a fox, all soft fur and cute exterior, wide-eyed and small. But a fox is still a predator, hiding claws and teeth and bloodlust. Ghost decides, then, that he wants to see it for himself, the animal that lingers beneath her smooth skin. He wants to dance along its edge, to prick himself on the point of the knife, to find the rawest and most depraved corners of her mind. Would it be as fractured as his?

“Lt.!” Soap chimes beside the cute doctor. He’s sitting up in the hospital bed, his leg elevated on a stack of pillows with the leg of his pants rolled up, bandages fresh and pinned in place neatly. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, but the spark that makes him Soap is still there. His stomach, though, is bare and stained with watercolour splotches of grotesque yellows and blues. “Have you met the nice doc yet? She really saved my arse out there.”

She doesn't even look up from her notepad as she continues scribbling away, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "It's my job," she replies lightly, finally glancing up at him with those eyes - those stunning, bright, cheeky eyes - that seem to see straight into his soul. "Besides," she adds with a wink and a quirk of her eyebrow, "who else would tolerate you enough to patch you up?" She jabs a playful finger at Soap, riling him up easily. It's like she has a sixth sense for it: calming patients and riling them up at the same time.

Jealously sits heavily in Ghost’s gut when the doctor turns her smile from the page to Johnny. It sizzles and boils in his stomach, evaporating into mists of anger. “You’d best be on your way then, Sergeant.” She hums, placing the notebook down at Soap’s side. “I think your lieutenant is here to collect you. Remember, the pain medications are eight hours apart, and my office is always open if you need me to rewrap that leg, alright?”

She lays a delicate hand on Johnny’s good leg, giving it a soft pat before rolling her stool back.

The green, angry jealousy threatens to erupt from his guts.

see part 2 here ->