#SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A HUG | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

royalarchivist · 1 year ago

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Pac: I said, "Hey, let's do something fun, you know? Let's kidnap the [Federation] baker!" And we are kind of like, locked up, and [Richarlyson's] even sadder now, right? Phil: I can put my hand through the bars. Pac: [Laughs] Can I ho– Please save us! Phil: Do you miss human touch, Pac? Pac: Yeah, I miss human touch. Phil: I'm here for you. [...] We can smuggle things into jail. [To Richarlyson] It's okay, mate. Pac: Can you smuggle me a cellphone?* I know information is power here.

Phil visits Pac and Richarlyson in jail.

* Pac's quote here is a direct reference to Fuga Impossivel, where Cell (Cellbit) had a cellphone he used to threaten people with his "contacts from the outside." (In reality, the phone had no signal, but that's how he earned his name "Cell")

[Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

Pac: Richarlyson feeling a little bit sad 'because 'cus he's locked up, you know? That's why he's using a different kind of hat.

Phil: Oh, Jesus Christ. Wait– why's Richarlyson's [happiness] bar gone down?

Pac:Yeah, 'because 'cus he's unhappy, 'cus, well, we kind of like, got locked up, and it's his birthday today, and he's feeling a little bit sad about like, growing up, you know?

Phil: Is that why he's got a different cow head on?

Pac: Yeah, yeah, and to try to help him, I said, "Hey, let's do something fun, you know? Let's kidnap the baker!" And we are kind of like, locked up, and he's even sadder now, right? [Richarlyson shakes his head] Yeah, but look – jail is fun!

Phil: I can put my hand through the bars.

Pac: [Laughs] Can I ho– Please save us!

Phil: Do you miss human touch, Pac?

Pac: Yeah, I miss human touch.

Phil: I'm here for you. [Cracks up]

Pac: I miss human touch. Oh my god, a hand! Richas, you want to touch a hand? Touch uncle Phil hand. [Laughs]

Phil: Yeah, right here.

Pac: Touch it, Richas! Connect with every–

Phil: I can get you out, I can get you out, I don't know if I'll get punished though, but we'll see. [Laughs]

Pac: I don't think you're going to get punished. [He looks at Richarlyson] Right? [Richarlyson shakes his head, holding a camera] There's nothing wrong about setting two persons out of the jail.

Phil: Yeah, I feel like you've learned your lesson, right?

Pac: Yeah, I won't try to kidnap the baker.

Phil: Oh, Richarlyson wants you to take a photo of, like, hands touching, I think.

Pac: Oh. Ok, let me...

[They stand there, holding hands in silence until Richarlyson takes a photo, then they burst into laughter.]

Pac: Well, Richas, you wanna do the same? I can take a picture of you! I just need a paper. [Pac checks his inventory] ...I don't have any papers, if you have one?

Phil: [Still cracking up as he holds hands with Richarlyson]

Pac: I need the paper, Richarlyson!

Phil: I have paper, there you go.

Pac: Oh, thank you.

Phil: We can smuggle things into jail. [To Richarlyson] It's okay, mate.

Pac: Look! [Laughs and throws Phil the photo] Can you smuggle me a cellphone?* I know information is power here.

Phil: I can – hold on, let me see, let me see...

Pac: Maybe like a cellphone? Or maybe a gaming setup so me and Richarlyson could put some gaming in here, you know, so we can play games?

Phil: I can – I could just break you out. [Laughs] But it's up to you – do you want to be out?

Pac: Yeah, if – Richas, you want to get out of this prison? I know it's bigger and better than our house. Look at the size of this, Phil! You wanna, like–

[Richarlyson breaks the jail bars and lets himself out, then replaces the bars to keep Pac inside]

Phil: [Dying]

Pac: ALL ALONG? Wait – we have been in here for the past 15 minutes, Richas! Oh my god. Ok, ok, I'm done, I'm done. I'm just gonna stay here. I'm just gonna stay here. [Pac walks to a corner of the cell and sits down facing the wall]

Phil: [Still wheeze-laughing] Dude...

Pac: I'm just gonna stay here.

Phil: I can't– [wheezes] I can't break these blocks, he's locked us in!

Pac: RICHARLYSON–

#Pactw #Philza #Richarlyson #QSMP #Phil #Pac #I gasped when he said the cellphone line #I was also a little bit 😒 when Phil first said that touch line but they turned that into a cute thing rather than a cursed thing #I mean I could definitely see q!Pac being a lil bit touch-starved since half the Favela is missing and his kid was missing for a long time #and Mike is STILL missing #someone give this man a hug #Anyways I NEED Cellbit to come back so he and Pac can finally have a talk about that. And Purgatory. And everything really #November 30 2023 #Phil was offline when this happened btw #This is another one of those clips where I was like ''yes this is a bit long but it's better to keep it in one clip than split it up''#Q

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darkeraurora · 7 days ago

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Admissions - Chapter 3

Small Moments

Word count 3617 SFW Spanish translations are at the end.

Content warnings: swearing (our boo does that), and details of how Simon got his face scars.

Image is by NoteszB on Twitter. Look at this beautiful thing and his freaking long blond eyelashes!

MASTERLIST

“Feels like I’m about to blast off.”

Sereza hummed. “MRIs always gave me Star Trek vibes.”

“Is this thing gonna blow up with me in it?” Soap asked over the mic inside the scanner.

“Uh,” the petite female began. From the back of the room, the silent skull and the captain watched her scroll through several images of Johnny’s head. The team had a vested interest in this; if it went well, she’d said, the drain could be removed and the 141 would be much closer to getting back to their hunt. “Nahhh,” she finally answered back a bit too casually.

“Not very convincing Lass,” the Scot griped.

Slender fingers flicked past several more images. “I’m like, 67% sure it'll be fine.”

“What?!!”

“Steady soldier,” Ghost’s deep voice commanded. Dark irises looked down at the woman when she shivered. An eyebrow arched, inquisitive.

“LT don’t let me die in here!”

Fucking hell, so dramatic. “Keep it tactical Sargeant.”

“Ugh, fine. But I want my chest candy for this!” Soap wagged his finger in their general direction.

“Best I can do is let you keep your grippy socks,” the peanut replied dryly. Price barked out a loud laugh. Even the stoic Brit shook a bit with a silent chuckle before reaching out and patting just above her ponytail. Silent praise for her quick wit.

Both men straightened and came to attention as Raphael rounded the corner, knocking his knuckles against the open door. “Vete a la chingada,” Sereza snapped.

The major smirked. “Well that’s not very nice.”

“Don’t care.”

“So spicy,” he crooned, lifting an arm toward her hair.

Sereza swatted his hand away viciously. “Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!” The corner of Simon’s mouth tugged upward beneath the mask. It seemed the tiny peanut could also be quite the spitfire. It further fascinated and amused him.

Raphael jumped back, wearing an affectionate grin. He enjoyed teasing his sister. “You’re in a mood today. I come to apologize for this morning, like a good big brother, and you’re being mean to me,” he lamented, then ducked to the side as a pen flew at his head.

Perks of being his sister, the Brit thought to himself with a hint of envy. There had been a few majors and others over the years he’d have liked to sling something at.

Price waited. And waited some more, discreetly watching Ghost’s profile. But the skull remained silent and only observed the siblings’ banter. Hm.

“Cállate, now get lost,” the pint-sized female ordered. “Unlike you, I have work to do. Lárgate.”

“Bloody hell, who you yelling at Lass?” Johnny cut in.

At his interruption, the major gave up and left his sister to her work. “Absolutely nobody important,” she answered into the mic. Price chuckled as he explained to Johnny that he’d missed the squabble and his best guess was she’d told her brother off.

Johnny gasped. “Told off the major?!”

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando,” Sereza replied innocently with a shrug. “Now, back to your brain.”

The captain took note. No direct interaction between the younger man and the doctor to speak of, but what hadn’t happened was telling. Despite having no idea what was said, she had been made clear her brother was not allowed to pat her on the head, yet she hadn’t objected to Simon doing the same in the hallway the other day and again just a moment ago. And another, more fascinating thing was missing: Simon’s customary ‘speak English’ remark.

The Scot was constantly chastised whenever he spoke Gaelic within earshot of the Brit but Sereza, it seemed, got a free pass. And Ghost was not known for giving free passes. To anyone.

How very unlike him. In John’s experience, people speaking another language made the lieutenant uneasy. He needed to know precisely what was going on around him at all times. But he’d stayed calm with her; not a single annoyed remark or complaint.

What exactly are you doing here, son?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning drifted quickly into evening, the arctic sun setting several minutes earlier each day.

The masked lieutenant stood outside Sereza’s office. For a moment he watched her, observed, while her mouse cursor flew across the screen. Head propped up in her other hand.

Unaware of the silent shadow, the little one gathered her long honey-hued curls and rapidly twisted them, exposing the back of her delectable neck, coiling her hair on the back of her head and securing the mass in place by shoving a pen through it.

Simon always wondered how women were able to do that. And so deftly.

It was fucking adorable.

Bloody hell. Such a pretty kitten.

He felt like a damn stalker.

Annoyed with himself, the Brit cleared his throat.

“Holy shit!! Ghost!” The little one jumped in her chair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“You’re jumpy.”

“And you wouldn’t jump if another one of you just materialized out of fucking nowhere!?”

“No,” the skull deadpanned.

“Ugh!” Sereza moaned dramatically, tossing her head backward and slapping her hands over her eyes. She let out a deep sigh, muttering something under her breath in Spanish, then turning to him with her professional face back on. “What can I do for you sweetie?”

The Brit almost filled the doorway as he walked in. “Anything on Johnny?” he asked, improvising on the spot.

She clicked through several screens. “Nothing official for you yet; still waiting on the report. But I can tell you that I didn’t see anything that would make me want to leave the drain in longer. In my personal professional opinion, it’s ready to come out, however I’m not a radiologist, so-” she waved away the rest of her sentence.

Simon nodded. The peanut drew her legs up and folded herself into her chair, making her appear even smaller. His gaze roamed over her, memorizing her, until he stopped at the socks barely peeking over her shoes. “Your socks are really small.”

“Very random Ghost.” She shoved the edge of her desk, spinning in her chair around to face him, “There is a substantial size difference between the two of us, you may have noticed.”

He chuckled until Sereza held up her palm to him. Confused, the skull stared momentarily. Eyes flicking between hers and her outstretched hand.

“Come on, let’s see,” she prompted, wiggling her fingers.

She wants me to touch her?

The Brit, moving almost as if he might scare her off, pressed his gloved hand against her palm and as expected, he completely dwarfed her. A quiet laugh tickled his ears as she pushed back against him, turning their hands from side to side. Simon found himself captivated. Her smile, expression sparkling with her amusement, the feeling of her – touching her – and the warmth of her seeping through the glove to his…

Sereza fell silent and looked up, meeting dark eyes that had softened and crinkled at the corners. “Ghost? Are you smiling?” she asked, tilting her head to one side and grinning wider at him.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. Somewhat reluctantly, but dammit that beautiful face…

It made him want to tell her things. Things he knew he probably shouldn’t.

Most definitely shouldn’t.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

Ah shit, here it comes. Cue the same old tired lines about his balaclava followed by the pressure to take it off then the endless questioning about why he wouldn’t. Honestly, he had been starting to wonder when this was coming; it always did eventually. People’s curiosity about his mask was understandable, of course, and a few courteously-worded questions were fine, but he didn’t understand their inability to take no for an answer. Removing it was out of the question.

Sereza noticed the change in his expression, how the hidden smile dropped and his posture changed, curling inward almost imperceptibly. Protectively. He really didn’t like that, but… I don’t think it’s about his smile... “Not that I think you should take it off or anything; it was just an observation. I’m just happy I’m learning how to read you,” she explained. Lacing her fingers through his, she gave Simon’s hand a quick reassuring squeeze before breaking their contact and turning back to her work.

His metaphorical mask was firmly fixed in place. All his defensive walls were up and ready to field yet another attack on the object that provided him a sense of comfort, safety, and anonymity in this god-forsaken world.

Except for once the attack never came.

“Why aren’t you asking about it?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. Surely she wanted to; everyone had something to say about it. Some unsolicited and unwelcome bit of advice. Or they’d have something to say behind his back at the very least.

Those lean shoulders casually shrugged, “I didn’t have anything to ask, honestly. I think you’re expecting me to bombard you with questions about it but I don’t have any. And before you ask why not I suppose that’s because, in my view, you’re an adult making an adult decision and therefore whatever I think doesn’t matter.”

But do you hate it too?

Simon’s chest began to hurt and he realized that, surprisingly, it would actually really hurt him if she hated the balaclava. Hated this part of him.

“Maybe it’s the surgeon in me that makes me partial to skulls but, for what my opinion’s worth, I think it looks nice on you. Both your styles.”

Like skulls, do ya’ Lovie?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was one instance where Simon disliked his masks – when his facial hair grew too long. He’d never cared for it, even before he began covering his face. Almost as soon as he started growing peach fuzz he’d started shaving.

How John willingly put up with all that hair on his face Simon would never understand.

Ghost could go about two weeks between shaving before the stubble became annoying, but he could still tolerate it when he had to. Long missions in the middle of nowhere had given him plenty of practice. By four weeks his face was beginning to really piss him off and at five he was willing to use his combat knives to get rid of the hair, the resulting razor burn a price worth paying.

Shredding his skin wasn’t necessary this time. Luckily for him and his face, the commissary at Westforge was pretty good. Shave cream, pack of decent razors, body wash he didn’t think would leave him smelling like a goddamn fruit basket after a shower – perfect.

Movie night was in just over an hour; might as well knock it out while he waited. Maybe she’d be there… He shoved the thought away.

Dark gaze roamed from his fingers in the running water, waiting for it to warm up, to his balaclava staring back from where it lay on the edge of the sink, down to the walking boot protecting his fractured foot, and coming to a stop at the bruises and scabs his bone gloves had kept concealed. Remnants of a fight. One that had turned out to be his opponent’s last.

Large hands cupped the warm water over his face and applied shave cream. This part of shaving was an almost automatic task for him; not requiring much focus. His mind began to wander…

Her laugh faintly played in his ears.

The sound of her accent when she’d told him the name of her hometown.

Feeling her touch him while she traced his tattoos. And holy hell that smile.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

She’d held his hand-

Ghost blinked away those thoughts. Fucking hell, get your head on straight. Picking up the razor and taking the first swipe, each stroke revealed more of the disfigured face. Simon rinsed his razor. He exhaled resentfully, having come to the parts he never liked doing – around the scars. The tiny nicks from fighting or the typical mishaps as a kid were negligible. He could, and very often did, completely overlook those.

Others…

The line near his temple where no hair grew from a time his father had backhanded him, causing Simon’s head to hit the corner of a table. His mother hadn’t been allowed to take him to get stitches until the following day.

As shit as his father had been, he hadn’t been the one responsible for most of his scars…

Small pieces missing from his ear.

Old burns on his neck and chest where they’d put out their cigarettes.

Narrow lacerations through his eyebrow, one extending down across his nose and to the corner of his inner eye.

The corner of his lip sliced through.

Rough, red scars crisscrossing his cheeks.

What remained of a gash extending from in front of his ear, underneath and behind, then up into his hair. Carved into his head by one of his torturers.

A sunken, cross-shaped scar Roba had personally cut deep into his cheekbone. That was probably the worst thing marring his face.

He rinsed the razor and took another swipe. Then stopped.

Or was it his eyes? Dark as coal, just like his father’s, his mother had always said.

“They’ll always be a piece of him in you.”

Simon rinsed the clean razor again. Pausing in his task, the haunting glare at his reflection intensified.

His nostrils flared. With a fierce yell, he hurled the razor across the small bathroom, the plastic shattering against the tile wall. His palms slammed onto the edge of his sink, the porcelain groaning under his white-knuckled grip. Head hanging, teeth clenched, eyelids squeezed shut in an effort to stop other, weaker, signs of emotion from leaking out.

No sense in lying to himself. He would disgust her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Simon was going to go insane.

If he didn’t get out of here and back to work soon…

Two weeks. Two more fucking weeks, he mentally reminded himself. His heavy footfalls stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the common room. Now what? Rolling his eyes, he backed up a few paces and looked around the corner. He’d been hoping his sight was deceiving him, but no. Simon wasn’t that lucky.

He frowned behind the skull balaclava as he surveyed the room. A herd of random people, gathered beneath an open vent for… what reason exactly? Just as he was getting really curious one of them yelled into the ceiling, “Got it?”

Is there a fucking person in the damn air vent?!

“Almost, not yet,” a feminine voice echoed back from the darkness.

No...

The onlookers had begun teasing, oblivious to the shadowy lieutenant looming behind them, urging her to “get a move on.”

“Could you have some damn patience?”

“Bet I could be faster.”

“Bet not. There’s no way you’d fit in here. It’s like being in a damn coffin, even for me.”

Simon’s pulse raced, his feet carried him into the room and through the crowd until he stood directly under the vent, people scattering out of his way at just his presence alone. Not that he paid them any attention; he was only vaguely aware of them at best.

Alarm spider-walked up his spine. The little one… in the dark… squeezed into a space the size of a coffin. The room felt like it was spinning. Sound became muffled.

He wanted her out, and out right fucking NOW.

His mind screamed at him to get to her, to tear the fucking ceiling apart if need be. Whatever it took to pull her back out into the light where she belonged.

A loud bang almost made him flinch, followed by the hum of the air system as it came back online. “Got it!” she called from within the ductwork. There was a round of clapping and ‘atta girl!’ but Ghost stood still and silent as a statue in the middle of it all, the gaze drilling into the black void in the ceiling. She was taking too long…

The others began wandering off, back to whatever business they had, but the lieutenant stayed resolutely adhered to the floor, wide eyes trained on the vent. There was the rest of the world and everyone in it, then there was her – his little one – and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not bring the entire ceiling down. Finally, a flash of movement in the darkness; the black sole of her shoe as Sereza worked her way out. Simon could almost breathe again, but not until she was safely back on the ground.

Moving slowly since she couldn’t see where she was going, Sereza shimmied backward out of the vent. Large arms wrapped around her thighs, easily taking her weight, then a steadying grip on her waist lowered her the rest of the way out. She blinked rapidly as oppressive darkness gave way to those stupid fucking florescent ceiling lights she hated. Her hands held onto broad shoulders for support as she was lowered to the floor. Looking up, hazel irises locked with worried dark ones hidden behind eyeblack and a bone balaclava.

Ghost was almost panting, his gaze rapidly skimming over her face and frame. He was worried about her? But there wasn’t even a second to ponder on that before she was crushed against a hard chest, his arms wrapped across her back and masked face buried against her hair. Ear to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat pounding away.

Dios mio… He smelled divine.

Gunpowder, naturally, woven among the scent of leather and the outdoors. Another more subtle scent – cedar? His choice of body wash, she supposed. And buried beneath it all, his natural musk that she could only describe as unmistakably, intoxicatingly, and deliciously male. No human should be allowed to smell so good, she decided. Smiling to herself, Sereza sighed contentedly and curled her fingers into his hoodie as she snuggled back against him.

For right now, nothing else mattered. She let herself be surrounded by Ghost, his warmth, and his presence.

In the back corner of the room, behind a cigar, bright blue eyes narrowed at the pair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not until the group reached the common room did Simon manage to peel himself away from the little one’s side comfortably. He still trailed after her, but she headed for the bathroom and he was forced to fully separate from her. Goddammit.

He sunk into one of the ancient, sagging couches. A spot on the outer edge to keep him away from the chattier crowds and also protect his broken foot from getting accidentally kicked, an armrest at his left preventing too many people from sitting beside him – not that they did to begin with… Simon couldn’t have a better spot. A bone glove palmed the contents of his pocket.

A feminine sigh from behind him made his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. To Simon’s complete surprise, the peanut headed straight for him, weaving past Soap and Garrick. Sereza folded herself up and squeezed between Ghost’s side and the threadbare armrest, tiny feet perched on the edge of the cushions.

“She’s like a damn pretzel,” Gaz remarked to the other sergeant.

Sereza pulled her legs in closer. “If I fits, I sits.”

Simon was positively chuffed to bits.

The little one yawned. Fucking hell that was adorable, like everything she did. “Long day?” he asked.

She covered another yawn as she nodded, “Long and very, very early.”

The lights clicked off as the opening credits began playing. Before the show could get started, he dug the noisy package from his pocket and sliced it open with his knife. Sereza’s head tilted his direction. “Yes, Peanut?” his deep voice whispered, laced with amusement.

She shivered again. Was she cold?

Didn’t feel cold in here. Then again, she was a gnat-sized little thing with almost no meat on her bones. Maybe she was.

“N-nothing,” she quietly squeaked.

Ghost’s dark eyes twinkled in the light from the screen. He tipped his hand, offering her the open bag. That smile – that fucking gorgeous smile – spread across her face as she pulled out a gummy worm.

“I love sour gummy worms!” she murmured.

Deadpool was pretty good and Simon didn’t care that it was a bit of an older movie. He wasn’t usually one for the superhero genre but he enjoyed the character’s sass. The mix of action and dialogue was good too-

He started.

A small weight had dropped onto his shoulder.

The little one’s head.

Oh sweetheart.

Her breaths were deep and slow. Poor thing must have been more exhausted than she’d let on. That or she felt safe enough to fall asleep in a room full of men. What a luxury it must be to feel that safe. That included many guys on her brother’s team who also saw her as their sister, but still. Such a thing was beyond Simon’s comprehension.

Midnight eyes looked over the tiny curled-up figure. Even as a few of the lights came back on she didn’t stir. Definitely sound asleep, which meant she was entirely vulnerable. The urge to watch over her consumed him.

Looked like he was stuck.

The room cleared out. Simon waved off offers to help get the little one to her room and shot his most murderous glares at those who tried to wake her up. Johnny smiled and passed him a throw blanket. The Brit slouched back into the cushions, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie and getting comfortable for his watch. For as long as she needed.

A new, warm feeling bloomed in his chest as she let out a soft sigh and pressed closer to his arm.

…I want to hold her.

Spanish translations:

��Vete a la chingada.”

Go to hell.

“Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!”

I’d already told you not to do that!

“Cállate.”

Shut up.

“Lárgate.”

Get lost.

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando.”