33 | fanfiction writer with a fanfiction series. current fandoms; Call of Duty Modern Warfare, NBC's Hannibal and Transformers. currently a very disorganized blog.
🩹 Years of Whumpmas Participation: I think all of them. I don't remember.
🔪 Favorite season: all but winter.
🩸 Average amount of sleep: 7-8 hours.
🩹 Dream Job: It's more like jobs I can't have because of my disabilities. Serving in the military ( perhaps more as a medic) working in the ICU at a hospital. Sadly I can't even work as a cashier.
🔪 Blog established date: 2020. I think in May.
🩸 Username/blog meaning: I started out writing Transformers stories, and I like the Autobots. 2001 is when I came up with my fanfiction series idea.
🩹 Hobbies: writing, playing games, pets. Maybe Youtube. Long story.
🔪 What you love about whump: Found family has helped me deal with my own shit.
🩸 Anything else to add: I currently post/ reblog Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, NBC Hannibal, and Transformers. One day I'll have a nice organized welcome post/ easy way to find everything. This may be unpopular, but I welcome everyone. My stuff is labeled, but obviously not everything I reblog will have warnings.
Started writing some of the NikPrice week prompts and I'm having second thoughts about it. I love the AU idea these prompts randomly gave me. It's the concern that Nik and Price aren't the center of attention enough while writing about Jamie so I don't feel like I just added her in. Enough to make the AU interesting. Hmm...
"We're back!" The Captain called out as he and the Lieutenant shuffled into the 141's private common room, kicking the door shut behind them; their arms much too preoccupied with cradling the bountiful feast they'd set out. "Gaz, they were outta vegetable spring rolls, mate. Your just gonna have to cope without this occasion-"
However, the pair of commanding officers came to a screeching halt as they took in the scene before them. You - the Task Forces newest addition - quite clearly upset and your fellow Sergeants sat on either side of you. The old, worn brown leather couch sagging under yours, Soap and Gaz's weight.
"Didn't think no spring rolls would be such a big deal" Ghost murmured dryly as he took in your tears, his eyes crinkling into what might have been a confused scowl behind his skull-printed balaclava.
"What's going on?" John asked as he shuffled further into the room, setting the steaming bags of take-out down on to the counter of the kitchenette - the small kitchen space all but shoved into one corner of the common room. His brow furrowing into a soft frown as he tried to make sense of the situation.
He'd always been a bit of a softie when it came to his Sergeants, not that he'd ever admit it.
"Their partner-" Kyle began to explain before Johnny cut in with his own grumble, continuing to gently rub at your back.
"Ex."
"-just dumped them over text" Gaz continued, ignoring the Scotsman.
"How could they do this to me?" You whimpered between another choked sob.
The sudden break-up didn't exactly come as a surprise to the team, per say. It had been a long time in the making. Yet, unfortunately it appeared everyone but you had seemed to realise the decline of what once was a happy relationship.
The arguments, last minute cancelled plans, short periods of ghosting - you had simply chose to believe that you and your ex had just been going through a rough patch. After all, you'd been together a few years now and you'd thought you'd known them better than to just end things over text... apparently you didn't.
"What a fuckin' idiot," Simon scoffed in his typical blunt fashion, taking the rest of the squad by surprise; your sobs quietening to upset sniffles as you blink at him. Setting his own bags of goodies down on the counter beside the Captain's and reaching for the plates up in the cupboard to begin dishing up the team's usual Friday Night takeaway. "Lettin' someone like you slip through their fingers."
"See, bonnie? Ah told yeh tha' yeh were too good for tha' wanker," Soap joined in, gesturing to the Lieutenant victoriously. "Has tah be true 'cause even LT agrees!"
"I just.. I just thought they were the one, yanno?" You shrugged, arms wrapping around yourself in a self-hug, shaking your head; reluctant to believe their reassurance. "I feel so stupid..."
"Oh, dove, got yourself into a right tizzy, haven't you?" John sighed sympathetically, abandoning the Chinese takeaway for the time being and padding across the room. Before slowly kneeling down in front of where you sat, his knees cracking as he did, large hands falling atop your knees and giving them a light squeeze. "If they couldn't be bothered to do the right thing and give you closure face-to-face then I'm afraid I have to agree with the lads. You deserved better than a bloody text after years spent together."
"And you not stupid," Kyle added, nudging you with his elbow and offering one of his most charming smiles. "See it this way - at least you know now before you wasted anymore time on that tosser, yeah?"
That earned the barest hint of a smile, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.
"Anyway," Soap grinned, seeing an opportunity as your distress began to waver. Playfully flexing his biceps and earning a real laugh from you. "Who needs them when yeh have us, aye?"
"If we're done with the dramatics," Ghost chimed in, drawing attention back to the now plated take-away. "Foods going cold."
And, as the 141 finally settled onto the sofas with their plates - turning on that film Johnny had been yapping on about wanting to watch for weeks, it didn't slip past you that the usually-brooding Lieutenant had given you his share of the prawn crackers.
Perhaps Price wasn't the only softie when it came to his teammates being upset...
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Hi, all! Beanie here!
Incase you didn't know, I actually run a discord server named 'Beanie's Tea Room' ❤️ we host movie nights, gaming lobbies, art competitions and have so many fun people from all walks of life within the server.
I also post sneak peaks of my writings ahead of time 🤭
Link to Server: https://discord.gg/bVGMDzZC4G
The link to my server is in the Linktree in my bio and while you're there, why not check out my other social media like Tumblr and TikTok 😊 can't wait to see you there!
soap likes pie and the lads get him a pie every year for his birthday.
whether it's from their favorite bakery, a local shop on a mission, ordered as take away. even if it's the tiniest slice of pie any of them have ever seen. Even if it's the ugliest thing made of literal mud. They always find a way to make sure John MacTavish has a pie for his birthday.
That summer Soap enjoyed his birthday pie surrounded by the lads at a FOB. It was sunny. Spirits were high. everyone got a piece.
At some point between Las Almas and that summer, someone had started calling Johnny and his pies "good luck pies." If soap was in a pie mood, things were sure to go well. Didn't matter if he actually ate any pie, as long as the thought and joy of pie was there.
the next birthday, ghost finds a bakery two streets from the safehouse. nobody asks him to. he just comes back, sets it on the table.
the lads filter in. someone pulls up a chair. someone else leans against the wall with their arms crossed.
nobody cuts it for a while.
eventually ghost says, flatly, that soap would've already had half of it gone before anyone else got a look in. someone makes a sound that isn't quite a laugh, the others join in.
gaz cuts it, same as always, more or less.
it's not an FOB. it's not sunny. spirits are not high. and everyone gets a piece.
maybe that's the thing about the good luck. it was just as much about him being there. john macтavish, in a good mood, with a pie.
they were lucky to have that. lucky to know him. lucky to have him.
Sweet tooth!Gaz and reader who is always carrying candy. You don't really notice that you always seem to stock up on snacks to offer your friends and coworkers until you notice how Gaz lights up with them. You are just admin support, not really a soldier like them, you stay most of your days stuck inside your office, going over so much paperwork you swear you've been signing reports in your dreams. When you spend that long in a room doing nothing, you get a taste for having a snack available for the most boring hours.
And so, it started with the one time Johnny came to deliver some reports — late reports — to you in your office, and you offered one of your chocolates to him. After that, it didn't take long for others to find out you always have something on you. And out of all the soldiers, Gaz seemed to love to come by, beaming at any sweet you gave him.
You took notice, you really didn't mean to, but the man was already handsome normally, and smiling at you, it was hard to ignore. You watched how he was so happy when you gave him a caramel after he delivered you some reports, a chocolate after he reviewed his debrief with you instead of leaving you to do it on your own, a few lollies when you caught him after his sparring session. Soon, it was your little ritual, as soon as you saw the handsome soldier, you'd be searching your bag or pockets for whatever sweet thing you could give him.
And in return, Gaz started spending more and more time with you. Coming by your office more, staying a little longer, resting on your office's couch when free, bitching and gossiping with you. Then you were being invited to sit with him and his team in the mess hall, to watch them spar, or even go to the pub with them.
It was silly how enamored you were, you felt shy outside the candy-related interactions, and it was hard to pay any attention when he was sweaty while sparring or wearing civvies and laughing at the pub.
And Gaz was going crazy. He already found you a pretty little thing, but then you started giving him snacks and sweets, and suddenly he couldn't escape the thoughts of if your lips would taste as sweet as the candies you indulged him on. He tried keeping his pathetic crush to himself, but even his team noticed, teasing him every time he was left grinning dumbly at your back after you gave him whatever snack you had that day.
It was when you stumbled in the training grounds, having to speed to your bus stop to get home after your shift, and still made time to come up to him, and give him homemade baked sweets, that he decided he had to make you his. The man was ready to propose, fighting the other soldiers that playfully asked for a few of your baked snacks.
The next time you saw him, it was Gaz who gave you something. A bouquet, a box of your favorite chocolates, and a phone number, with the info that tonight after your shift you should dress up because he was picking you up for a date.
cw: disassociating, maybe absence seizures. very brief, very light, soft but interrupted smut. Hurt/comfort. TBI. soap x reader. (Another Whumpee!Soap piece what can I say. He is my muse.)
Johnny and his post-tbi disassociation, the distances and absences you've become familiar with.
How his smile fades at the dinner table, eyes drifting away to some distant place. His hands just... pausing over the dirt while you're both in the garden.
At first it broke your heart. The doctors had said 'be patient' but no one had explained what that meant.
No one had explained it would mean conversations stopping for minutes on end. No one had explained it would mean taking sharp objects from his hands just in case he forgot they were there. No one had said how much it would hurt to see your Johnny come back from wherever he goes and tears spring in his eyes. Scared, or lost, or angry. Or wherever it took him that moment.
You learn, slowly, that the best thing to do is wait. Sometimes you keep talking, gently. Sometimes you sit in silence with him. Sometimes you keep your hand steadily brushing through his hair—he'd started letting only you care for it since coming home from the hospital, slow nights spent cleaning around the bandages turned into your little routine. Sometimes just a hand over his, something to hold onto when he surfaces again.
Mostly though, it's become just... a part of your days. His and yours. They frustrate him still, but mostly it's better. It's okay.
That is until he's panting over you, lips pressed to your neck as he moves slowly. Hips thrusting between your legs, trying to bury himself and stay there forever where it's warm and safe.
And he pulls back to smile down at you. And you see it long before it happens. The gloss washing over. Bright blue eyes greying over.
And Johnny just.. stills.
"Johnny..." You manage, hand coming up to cup his face.
He's still for a long moment. Longer than usual by your count.
Your eyes sting before you can stop them. Hand brushing back Johnny's hair. The other stroking absently over his arm.
"John..." You try again, throat squeezing down around his name.
And finally he inhales. Blinking back to you. His eyes find yours. And that familiar realization passes through them. His forehead drops to your shoulder. He doesn't move for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Love. I'm so sorry—"
You feel him shift, like he's going to move to get up. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close.
"Shh don't apologize. Are you alright?"
He manages a nod.
"Want to keep going?"
He's still for a moment. His breath is warm, shakey against your chest.
Finally, he shakes his head.
"Alright," you whisper. "That's alright."
He moves slowly out from between your legs. Only moving as far as to lie next to you, head still buried in your neck.
You lie there for a little while, just breathing together. His weight against your side something solid to hold onto.
Your hand moves through his hair, slow and steady. The other rests against his arm.
His tears come gradually. He doesn't make a sound, just the wet against your skin, and the occasional unsteady breath.
At some point his grip on you shifts. Tightens, his fingers finding yours and holding.
You feel the moment his breathing evens out. A slow exhale. The tension leaving his shoulders by degrees.
You press your lips to his hair.
"Bath or shower?"
He breathes. Then, quietly: "Bath."
You ease yourself up and pad to the bathroom, running it warm. Not hot, he'd told you once, early on, that too much heat made it worse.
When you come back for him he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Staring at the floor. You can see the wet at the corners of his eyes he's still trying to hold back.
You stand in front of him and open your arms. He folds into you without a word, face pressing into your stomach. His shoulders shake.
You hold him and let him cry into you. Your own tears dripping from your cheeks to his head.
It takes a moment. Moving slowly from the bed to the filled tub. But eventually, you're both in the water. His back to your chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. His hands have found yours beneath the surface and he's holding on with both of his.
"Still here," you murmur.
His grip tightens.
You press your lips to his cheek. The corner of his jaw. The soft skin just below his ear. And then longer on the back of his neck.
"Love you," he says, voice rough and quiet.
"I know." You hook your chin on his shoulder again. "Love you too, Johnny."
The air always suited his mood, and his clothes always suited the air, and it was beginning to drive him a bit mad. At first, the fact that his shirts fit him perfectly and his jumpers had no snags had been a delight, but after a week of grey days when he wanted to sit inside and draw and sunny days when he wanted to walk by the water, Soap had to admit that perfection was... boring.
God had given him everything - a Glasgow he'd grown up in and yet idealized, with no men pissing on buildings outside the pub unless he was drunk and thought it a particularly funny sight. No homeless folks begging for change, which had always made something in his chest twist uncomfortably. The austerity measures that had plagued his country seemed lifted, giving Scotland a bright, cheerful wash that was utterly and completely wrong.
But he wasn't meant to live in Glasgow forever.
The train system had insisted he could go to Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, or fuck off to Cumbernauld of all places, but what was the good in that? It was still just... Scotland. The borders of which seemed to be solid and immutable - he'd checked. Taken the time (since hunger, thirst, and fatigue were all cared for by The Big Man Himself) to plod about in one direction and make it to the edge of the country (it had taken both longer and shorter than he'd imagined it would). The sea was grey and choppy and a deep, dense fog obscured all outside his sightline in whatever direction he chose. Each point of the compass had been checked and each time it came up the same: absolutely nothing existed in Soap's heaven except for Scotland.
cw: nightmares. soap with a poor appetite and/or bad mission recovery habits. dry heaving. Hurt/comfort. soapgaz (platonic or romantic)
Thinking about Soap who comes back from six weeks in the field without an appetite.
Six weeks on whatever they could find plus a rotation of MREs, bodies running on fumes and adrenaline and not much else. They all deal with it when they get back. Price eats everything in front of him for three days straight. Gaz sleeps a lot between three step meals. Ghost disappears somewhere and doesn't come out until he's ready.
Johnny doesn't eat. Johnny works, reviews, trains, and distracts himself throughout the day.
A week passes and he's still pushing food around his plate and drinking coffee like that's a meal. His face gets a new sharpness to it that Kyle doesn't like.
The first few times, Kyle stays quiet. They're still new together. Still figuring this out. It's not Kyle's place to tell a man how to handle his trauma.
The nightmares start, or Kyle starts hearing them, maybe not the same thing. The first one comes through the wall as a sound that gets choked on, swallowed down. Kyle lies in the dark and doesn't sleep for an hour. Then the third sound is of Soap's door closing and Kyle's sitting up and following him down the hall.
He finds Johnny on the bathroom floor, arm hooked over the rim of the tub, shaking like a cold dog. He's dry heaving into the air, body wrung out and insisting, that awful sound going on too long in the small tiled room. Kyle opens a cabinet in the low runner lights along the floor, runs a cloth under the cold tap and crouches behind Johnny and presses it to the back of his neck.
Johnny flinches. Then goes still. Then starts shaking again. Kyle keeps the cloth there.
It takes a while to stop.
"Sorry," Johnny says eventually, voice scraped raw.
"Don't," Kyle says.
He gets him up off the floor, a hand under his arm, and Johnny lets himself be moved. He walks him down the hall and sits him on the edge of his bed. Then reaches past him to the shelf and sets a small stuffed bear in his hands.
Johnny looks down at it.
Kyle leaves him for 12 minutes to to make rice.
He keeps it plain, keeps it soft, almost overcooked. Just a bit placed in a small bowl. He brings it back and Johnny is sitting exactly where he left him, bear held loose in both hands, staring at nothing. Kyle sits beside him and holds the bowl out.
Johnny takes it from him, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic and into his palms. Then he eats. Just slow, small bites, like his body has just enough left in it to do this one thing. At some point he just sets the spoon down and Kyle takes the bowl from him without comment and puts it on the nightstand.
Kyle eases him back against the pillows, one hand between his shoulder blades, and Johnny goes, a bit boneless now, the bear tucked against his chest between his arms. Kyle pulls the blanket up and then pulls him in. Johnny's back against his chest, arm over him. Johnny doesn't say anything. Doesn't make a joke of it or laugh at Kyle's sudden gentle manner.
Kyle lies there in the dark and listens to his breathing slow down and even out, feels the last of the tremors work their way out of him. The room is quiet. Neither of them are asleep yet but neither of them speak.
Kyle feels Johnny tuck in closer to his chest, curling in around the bear, burrowing under the blankets.
Kyle places his chin on Johnny's head and closes his eyes.
