#mac writes cod headcanons

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

cult leader john price who is the unanimous leader of the commune. he’s their beloved leader and he cares for each member like they’re his children.

cult leader john price who left the violence of war behind him and now gently coaxes his followers into pacifism. weapons are strictly prohibited. there are no guns, and the only knives are hand-made and used for cooking and hunting.

cult leader john price who lives deep in the woods like a faery king. he makes his home where the mist curls like the fingers of phantoms around the poplars and willows. where the ground is heavy-laden with the burden of the beastly things and the owls and wildcats shriek in the night. where the moorland rises up to meet the mossy forest floor, the fog so thick out across the spongy expanse that journeying out there alone is strictly forbidden for fear of being swallowed up by the mires. only price knows where it is safe to tread.

cult leader john price who initiates the new members himself, gently lowering them into the river, not baptizing, but allowing the cold, clear water to rush over their faces so that they might know the songs that trickle in from the spring-fed mountaintops in the distance. he washes them himself with lye soap made there in the commune as they tremble, overwrought from the tender care, then dresses them in clean robes spun from the soft wool of the sheep price allows to range freely under the protection of the big dogs he keeps to guard the flock.

cult leader john price who is learned in natural medicine and healing, so when someone injured or ill stumbles upon the commune seeking aid, he gently guides them to a sickbed and cares for them himself, cleaning blood and fever from their skin and shushing them softly as the pain licks like a hungry flame through their blood. he brews tea from willow bark and skullcap to soothe them, and makes poultices of yarrow and marigold to apply to the skin, with neem and poppy to ease inflammation.

cult leader john price who speaks to each of his members, especially those that came to him because of trauma. he clears their minds of the thoughts that plague them and help them to forget. he allows no phones or other electronics into the commune, ensuring that those who harmed his followers will never again find them.

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

nsfw poly!141/dom price headcanon under the cut

Hear me out.

Price uses corporal punishment on his boys when they fuck up. Not when they fail a mission, but when they do something that puts them in danger, or when they misbehave badly and get the brass miffed with them.

He doesn’t do it to be cruel, but he expects his boys to behave, to show the world that they aren’t bad men just because they do bad things for the greater good. They aren’t monsters, so they can’t get angry, at least not in public, and they aren’t children, which means that they need to act their age and be responsible. It’s all well and good to act out, to tussle and yell and curse when they’re on leave together at Price’s nice little home in the woods, but not when they have jobs to do and need to be professional.

So while Price is usually the epitome of a doting ‘father’ and commanding officer, sometimes he’s forced to take a firmer hand with the boys so that they remember their places.

So when they’ve pushed him too far, been too mouthy or careless, or endangered themselves needlessly on the field and disobeyed orders, he herds whichever one of them was unlucky enough to get caught into his office. He locks the door behind him and slides off his belt. They won’t get away, and it’s no use to run— Soap tried once, and got stuck halfway through the little window to the right of Price’s desk. The replacement panes weren’t cheap and Price made damn well sure it came out of Soap’s next paycheck.

Each of the boys takes it differently.

Ghost is used to pain. He’s not numb to it, because nobody ever really can be, but he knows how to take it, to feel it, and let it wash over him like an icy-hot stream. His father beat him plenty enough for him to get acquainted with a belt. He doesn’t jerk, doesn’t flinch or complain, just bends over the desk and braces himself on his forearms. The lashes from the belt are searing, but he only lets out the occasional grunt. Afterwards, he doesn’t cry, but Price holds him firmly anyway, knowing that the contact grounds the lieutenant and replaces the cortisol with oxytocin. Sometimes, Ghost will mumble an apology. Other times, he’ll just curl up on the couch in the corner and let Price pet his hair until he falls asleep with a sore, stinging bottom and a sniffly nose.

Soap is another story altogether. He kicks, he fights, he bites and scratches, like a cat being condemned to a bath. He cusses Price out the entire time he’s being wrangled over the captain’s lap, legs and arms flailing, until the first harsh crack of leather across his bottom makes him shut up and tense. Now, Soap MacTavish was whooped many a time as a child for his cheeky shenanigans, so he can take it easy enough, but it’s something about the humiliation of being a grown man draped over his superior officer’s lap, being spanked as if he were still that mischievous, misbehaving boy from all those years ago, that makes his blood burn hot like fire. As soon as Price lets him up, Soap is scrabbling away, eyes red with tears of anger and embarrassment. He’ll go hide in Ghost’s room, hiccuping back furious sobs, until the bruises on his ego fade and he can slink back to Price for aftercare in the form of being pampered in the shower and then being tucked into bed with a kiss to the forehead.

For Gaz, the distress of knowing that he upset Price, the man who took him under his wings and shaped him into the operative he is today, the man who he owes his career and his life to, is almost worse than the punishment itself. He’ll take his licks like a big boy, bent over the desk instead of needing to be held down in Price’s lap the way Soap was. He’ll cry, though, just a little. Enough to wet his cheeks and make his lower lip wobble as he struggles to maintain a soldier’s discipline. When he’s had enough, Price will cup his pretty boy’s face, thumbing away his tears, and tell him that he’s still a good lad, that Price is still proud of him and loves him, and that the punishment wasn’t carried out in anger.

Really, the boys all get away like bandits. They’ll be babied and cuddled beyond what’s reasonable that night, tucked against the broad, warm chest of their captain, bodies curling around one another, the extra-large king-sized bed that just barely holds the entire team a tangle of limbs and muscle and snoring men.

And Price remains awake, a silent sentinel. The bulwark of strength and authority to keep the wildness of his boys tamed. Maybe it’s time for a trip to his cabin. The wild little beasties could use a chance to burn off some energy. The muppets.

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

cod kinktober day 4

Gaz tucking Ghost against his chest when they’re both laying on their sides in bed. Soft grunts and pants for breath escaping Ghost because Gaz is holding a small vibrating rose toy to the base of his cock, maintaining steady, horrible, wonderful pressure. Ghost tries to shift, groaning quietly as his gut throbs with heat, but Gaz holds him in place, shushing him gently. They both know it’s not enough to get Ghost to cum. Neither of them really care.

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

nsfw ghoap headcanon under the cut

Ghost having those gloves with the thick finger pads on them for ops. Skeleton-print, of course.

Good for not getting cut. Therefore enabling him to hold the blade of his combat knife as he makes Soap fuck himself down onto the lube-slickened handle. The sergeant’s eyes scrunched up and his teeth gritted as the ridges and texture of the grip is swallowed up by his tightness. Is this anything.

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

cult leader john price who brought each of his boys to the commune and integrated them little by little.

gaz took little coaxing. he was the first to follow price from the special forces to the forest. shedding all of the tension and expectations of his work. he enlisted to make a difference in the world, but found that even good guys have to do terrible things in the name of peace. his hands and heart hurt from holding a gun. now he’s price’s best game tracker and helps his leader to bring in plenty of fresh meat for the commune’s daily meals. the thrill of the chase reminds of him knife’s edge of adrenaline and terror he used to teeter upon during every mission. he loves to get to stretch his legs as he runs after a swift roe buck or wily hare.

soap came angry and hurting after the bullet to the head that nearly killed him in the tunnels. filled with frustration over a medical discharge, he had to relearn how to walk, how to talk, how to hold a damn fork. the physical therapy office and the cold clinical feel of the doctors didn’t help him half so much as feeling soft grass beneath his bare feet and the cool breeze on his face as he limped along with the cane that price carved for him. there’s hot springs, too, further up in the hills where the foot of the mountain reaches down to the trees below, and the warm, mineral-rich water eases all the aches and pains in his battered body. he can’t take an active role in the commune, like gaz can, so he becomes a storyteller for the children— they howl with laughter at his tales of reynard the fox and father brown and goldilocks. where he used to make drawings come to life in his sketchbook, which is now hard to do because of how much effort it takes to get his hands to stop shaking, he now paints pictures with his words.

ghost followed johnny. never one without the other, like a pair of bonded shelter cats that can’t be adopted separately. it was hard for ghost to let go of his own haunted past enough to be eased into the commune. he seeks forgiveness for his crimes and sins, all of them decades-old and weighing on him like the world upon the shoulders of atlas. his hands and teeth are stained with blood and his body is a map of the horrors he’s gone through— torture, rape, death, abuse. he’s lost everyone but the 141, and he’s not quick to settle. most nights, ghost wanders the forest, disappearing into the mists and returning with the sun, dark-eyed and hunted. sometimes he brings the freshly-skinned pelt of a wolf or badger or wildcat back with him, an offering to the godhood of price. he tans the furs until they’re butter-soft. some of them get sold, to help provide funds for the commune to buy what few supplies that they can’t grow or produce themselves. others become clothing or bedding, to keep them warm in the cold nights when winter comes and the bonfires can’t quite chase away the chill from the air. he also tends to to the sheep, packing up with the dogs to protect the vulnerable lambs newly-born in the spring. his claws are every bit as sharp as the predators he deters from the flocks.

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

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Nothing Permanent But Change

[ synopsis: Millen Coelho-Grey, a socially neutral alpha who is half-Príncipean and half-British, is placed with the 141 several years after a paratrooping accident left him with chronic pain and undiagnosed OSDD and PTSD. The 141 are a tightly-knit pack, all of them bonded to one another, but Millen isn't keen on being integrated with them. He has his own problems, as well as crippling self-doubt and self-esteem that's non-existent. But as his health worsens and relationships start to go sideways, new evidence begins to slowly come to light that maybe Millen was never supposed to be in the SAS after all. ]

tags: eventual poly, eventual romance, rated m, poly 141, pack 141, soapghost, ghostprice, pricegaz, hurt/comfort, emotional whump, chronic pain, mental illness, omegaverse au, alpha beta omega au, a/b/o au, male oc x canon

[ links are to ao3. commenting and kudos are available to guests. ]

pt 1 here

pt 2 here

pt 3 here

pt 4 here

pt 5 here

pt 6 here

pt 7 here

pt 8 here

pt 9 here

pt 10 here

pt 11 here

pt 12 here

pt 13 here

pt 14 here

pt 15 here

pt 16 here

pt 17 here

pt 18 here

pt 19 here

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

I headcanon Roach as a Scouser, right? A lot ‘f m’ poly!141 fics are set either in th’ regular MW reboot universe or in an au where Roach existed in th’ MW reboot ( ex: Nothing Permanent But Change ).

And Price is canonically from Liverpool because of th’ specific accent. M’ theory?

Price is Roach’s uncle. They’ve got different last names because Price’s sister took th’ name of her husband, [name] Sanderson. So when Roach enlisted, he was taken under Price’s wing because they were related.

Has anybody wrote anything wif this?

[theclassicistcodenjoyer]

Asian Animals TF141 + Los Vaqueros Hybrid AU

Binturong!Gaz

Loris!Ghost

Dhole!Soap

Père David’s deer!Price

Flat-headed cat!Roach

Fanged frog!Alejandro

Gurney's pitta!Rudy