God’s Weakest Soldier

20+ / Mainly COD Reblogs / No Minors

[alicerush]

The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress Until I wrap myself inside your arms, I cannot rest The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

— "Howl" by Florence + The Machine

[throughtimeandstarlight]

[charlesoberonn]

This post goes around Tumblr every year, and it’s always true. There’s never been an uneventful or boring January.

[sefarlen]

The thought of Soap being great at drawing but totally losing it over Ghost’s simple scribbles is just ridiculously cute 💓

Inspired by Samuel’s drawing💓💓✨✨

[prfctvlvt]

what planet are you truly from?

[omtai]

She literally does not give a damn what that old fool is yelling about

[unaloid]

the lion does not concern herself with papa

[trix-or-treatz]

Miss Piggy's response to misogyny and fatphobia is physical violence and I think we should all take something from that

[rusticfurnace]

first time

[fromhersoul]

[hauntedhunted]

kiss this babey

[anais-mirliaz]

frolicking with mama :)

[anexperimentallife]

[labelleizzy]

Everyone reblog this. Mandatory.

[aidashakur]

[velvetvexations]

[slavicafire]

in this new year I want you to be alright. I hope you move out. I hope you have enough money to feel safe. I hope you abandon shame and forgive yourself. I hope you get enough sleep and some good news. I hope you laugh a lot and the heaviness of the world eases a bit. I wish you to be alright.

[underwhelp]

STORY SEARCH

Hi all, looking for a Johnny "Soap" MacTavish story where the woman MC has travelled to Scotland to study history. She discovered a book from the famous king from hundreds of years ago and thinks that the woman drawn in the pages looks like her, she sees an apparition and is followed around by a cat. She touches a big stone and travels back in time Outlander style and meets Graves and Johnny.

I don't remember the name of the story or author. I read it on ao3, not sure if it was anywhere else.

Can anyone send me in the right direction?

[thebelchers]

[peachesofteal]

Heliophilia previous - masterlist - ao3 Simon Riley/female reader

The furnace goes out.

He doesn’t even realize. It’s only when he hears you in the hall, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet that he wakes, a second before you’re tentatively knocking on his door, his name small on your lips.

“Simon?” Ollie sleeps against your chest, the two of you bundled in a blanket, on top of your jumper and sweatpants.

“Christ flower, ‘m so sorry.” Sleepy confusion tugs at your eyebrows. Panic beats in his heart as he takes the two of you in, your shoulders rattling with the chill. “ You must be freezin’. Are you alright? Is she?”

“She’s fine, all bundled up. And it’s not your fault. It’s just… it’s really cold. I tried the wood stove but I couldn’t get it lit.” You look away, embarrassed, and his stomach burns with guilt. You shouldn’t have to be worrying about that, or anything.

“That’s okay, c’mon.” He wraps an arm around you, leads you downstairs to the couch where he grabs another blanket and tucks it in tight. “It’s the furnace. I’ll get the stove goin’ and go take a look.”

“I’m sorry, I tried. I feel bad waking you up, I thought if I could get it…” A shiver rolls through you, and he grits his teeth.

“It’s alright, it’s hard to get the hang of. Let’s get this handled,” he feeds the stove with some short, chipped splinters and a fire starter, finally managing to get it to take after a few tries. “There we are. It’s just a pain, is all.”

“T-thanks.” You’re freezing. It’s winter, and the furnace is out, and you’ve been awake and cold for who knows how long before thinking about waking him. It’s unsettling, how upset it all makes him.

“Next time anything happens, you come get me right away.” He demands, a little sharper than intended. You’ve been suffering while he’s been asleep. He hates it. His girls shouldn’t be cold, or hungry, or scared. “Okay?” He holds your gaze, serious, and you nod.

“Okay Simon.”

You’re curled up on the couch by the time he gets it kicked back on. Stubborn old thing with good bones, it just needs a little coaxing, but eventually, he’ll need to get a new one.

The idea fills him with warm satisfaction. Making this house more of a home, your home, his home, feels too good to deny, and it only multiplies when he comes back upstairs to find you curled up on the couch, Ollie unbundled and asleep on your chest, the two of you warm and safe in the glow of the wood stove.

“Hey,” you whisper, “you get it?”

“Yeah. It’s just stubborn. We’ll need a new one eventually.” We’ll. We. If it bothers you, you don’t mention it, and your small is soft and hazy when you speak next.

“Probably should go back to bed but it’s so nice down here.” You snuggle deeper into the couch, and he settles on the other end, your toes pressed against his thighs.

“She out?”

“Yeah. Still. Could sleep through anything I think.” Her lashes flutter above plump little cheeks, and he strokes the back of one with a knuckle.

“Little trooper.”

“She really is.” You sigh, fight to sit up carefully, trying not to disturb her. “She needs to sleep in her crib though.” His palm is flat on the couch cushion, and yours settles overtop it, skin on skin. “Night Simon.” He smiles.

“Good night.”

He fixes the windows.

They’re old. Wood warped in places, they let small gusts of cool wind in through nooks and crannies.

It’s getting too cold, for drafty windows, and he likes it. It feels good, to fix, to build something with his hands, fingers so used to pulling triggers and flicking knives they’ve almost forgotten how to be useful. Helpful. It feels like something he thought he’d never have, a life with a home and a family, a dream that once lived so far outside reality he couldn’t even imagine it.

Now, it’s all he thinks about.

By the time he’s finished it’s nearly mid afternoon, and he comes down the stairs to find you in the living room, Ollie in her little portable crib. You’re on the couch, a basket of baby clothes by your feet. It looks like a task, a pile of tiny shirts and pants and socks all mixed together, slowly being sorted into piles.

“Need some help?” You startle. Shit. “Hey,” he lowers himself slowly onto the cushions next to you, a palm turned upward. “Sorry angel.” You swallow.

“It’s okay.” You clear your throat. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s my fault.” He knows better, but he gets distracted sometimes. Too eager.

You give him a reassuring smile. Small but intentional, shoulders relaxing a fraction as you hand him a onesie. “Will you put that in that pile over there?”

“Sure.” He turns the onesie over in his fingers before folding it into a neat square, his gaze drifting to Ollie for a moment, watching her little chest rise and fall. She’s so small, so fragile, and it makes something in his chest pinch, an overwhelming urge to protect her settling in a new space inside him.

He had all these holes in his heart, before. Empty, bleak voids full of darkness. Burnt and charred remains of lives lived, things suffered.

They’re full now. Full of light, of love, completely filled in by you and Ollie.

Ollie stirs. She lets out a small warble, and you tense beside him on the couch. Frozen with two little socks in your hands. Unease prickles down his spine and he looks around, searching for the source of your discomfort, coming up empty. “What is it?” Your chest heaves.

“Nothing, I… she…” There’s hopelessness in your eyes. A stark contrast to their earlier ease, and you trail off, gaze locked on the baby who is now fully crying, her face scrunched up, tears on her lashes. “It was a long night and she didn’t want me.” He heard her all night, of course, half awake in the guest room, forcing himself to stay still. Stay in bed. Keep the distance.

He wishes now he’d acted differently, that he had gone to you, helped you.

“I’ll get her.” He murmurs, settling his hand just below the nape of your neck, thumb stroking circles into the junction of your collarbone. He wants it to say all the things he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t pretend to know everything that’s going on in your mind, has no idea what it’s like, to be a new mum, to have a tiny life solely dependent on you, he only knows his own truth. He’s here for you. He’ll take care of you, of Ollie, he’ll do it all, if you wanted.

Ollie comes to him easily, squalling against him unhappily. “Hey Ollie girl, what is it?” You watch from the couch, fingers knotted together, poised forward, unsure of yourself. “You’re okay,” he holds her up on his shoulder, walking the living room in a loop, finding your eyes on him and meeting them. “You’re okay.” You stand, half step towards him and your baby before retreating, heading for the kitchen.

“There’s a bottle. I’ll warm it up.”

“Here.” It didn’t take you long, and your hand is practically shaking as you push the bottle into his grip, discomfort rattling in the hard line of your shoulders.

“Alright, there we go. That’s better yeah?” Ollie drinks greedily, and he motions to the couch. “Let’s sit.” There’s no choice, he guides you with a free hand on your back, urging you forward and down, sitting at your side, so close Ollie’s wispy hair brushes your arm.

“I’m sorry.” You choke, and he shakes his head. “I just… she didn’t want me, and I didn’t know what to do and this morning she seemed so unhappy. It felt like I was failing, and I feel like I need a break or something, and I feel guilty and-”

“Angel,” he covers the hand fisted on your thigh with his, sweeping your thumb out to relax your palm flat. “You’re doin’ great. Of course you need a break. She depends on you for everythin’, and that’s a lot.” You nod and wipe away a tear that’s trickled down your cheek.

“It is a lot.” Your hand shifts under his, turning over, and your fingers fold to hold onto him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I want you to come to me, when it’s too much. Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

“I can’t ask that-”

“You’re not askin’. This is what I want. I’m here, I want to be here for you. I want to help you. Let me.” Your pupils dilate, lips parting as you hold his gaze. He lets go of your hand to place his palm on the back of your neck, steady but gentle, firm and coaxing all at once. “Promise me flower, you’ll come get me when you need help. When you need anything.” It takes a few seconds, disbelief and then acceptance playing out in plain view in your eyes, before you nod.

“I promise.” He leans in. Holds you still as your lashes flutter closed and he presses his lips to your crown, murmuring into your skin.

“Good girl.”

[bdzle]

[b33zlebubz]

jigsaw | masterlist

a man barges into your home, bleeding and desperate, demanding sanctuary. in return he promises your safety, dragging you across the continent to outrun the people who are after him. the more you begin to understand him, however, the gentler he turns out to be.

cw—she/her afab reader, blood death & violence, civilian reader, possessive/protective simon, possible smut later on, sort-of hostage situation, soft simon, enemies to friends to lovers

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[hil-arrr-y]

Two job-hunting resources that changed my life:

This cover letter post on askamanger.com. A job interview guide written by Alison Green, who runs askamanager.

[curliestofcrowns]

useful

[blownfromthesunintothesurf-blog]

Alison Green’s advice works. 

[sw-or-gtfo-deactivated20211219]

Alison Green got me all my interviews from 2012 onward, I am reasonably sure.

[vanitycats-deactivated20170527]

Alison Green is basically my life guide.

[intentandinvention]

Mine too - she was my most visited website for the first few years of my working career, and I cannot emphasise enough how much her advice helped me navigate how to behave in a work environment. You name it, she has an answer for it. Definitely a life hack.