Rowan Grim

He/him, 23yo Just here to lurk ngl 😅

[djunkiejunk]

141Recon Pride Writing Event - Wedding

Price's Retirement Party

Price x Nikolai, Ghost x Soap

Word Count: ~1.3k

Rating: G for General Audiences.

A/N: My submission for the 141 Pride Writing Event. I got lucky enough to get the "Wedding" trope. Price and Nikolai have always been married in my mind, so I thought I'd write up what their wedding might be like. Happy Pride, everyone! 💜

AO3 | Masterlist

Soap was already in a mood by the time he and Gaz pulled into the venue parking lot.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, climbing out of the truck and staring at the sprawling countryside estate in front of them. Warm lights glowed from the windows, soft music drifting across the gardens. "Expected Price to have his retirement party in some pub, not a bloody palace."

Gaz shut the door beside him. "You're just grumpy that you had to wear something besides your civvies and that Ghost wouldn't come with you."

Soap scoffed. "Am no' grumpy."

"You called him a 'feckin dickhead' four times on the drive over."

"He is a feckin' dickhead."

Gaz grinned. "Right. So am I not good enough company anymore?"

That got a laugh out of Soap. He shoved Gaz's shoulder as they headed toward the entrance. "You're tolerable at best."

Gaz goes to make a retort as they step inside, but his words die on his tongue.

The place was somehow even more absurd than it looked from the outside.

Candles flickered across every surface, casting a warm light over massive arrangements of white flowers. The music they'd heard outside turned out to be a live string quartet that was tucked into the corner of the room.

Soap stopped walking altogether.

"Gaz."

"Yeah?"

"Why the fuck does Price's retirement party have flowers?"

Gaz frowned as he looked around. "Yeah… this feels less 'retirement' and more 'rich widow remarrying for inheritance'."

Soap snorted, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Guess this explains the dress code. This is…"

"Nikolai's doing," a new, familiar voice cut in.

Soap and Gaz turned to see Laswell approaching. She was dressed impeccably in a sharp, dark blue suit, and her hair was pulled back in a tight, simple updo.

"Laswell," Soap greeted, clinking his glass lightly against hers. "So Cap is finally letting himself be spoiled, then?"

Laswell smiled faintly. "Something like that. Nik just wanted to make sure he had what he deserved."

"Seems a bit much for a retirement party," Soap muttered at the exact same moment Gaz asked,

"So where is he?"

Laswell gave them both a knowing look. "Nik's helping him get ready. They'll be down soon. Try mingling in the meantime."

Sooap glanced around the room again, only now noticing how many unfamiliar faces there were. Older men in formalwear, elegantly dressed women, people laughing and quietly talking amongst themselves, all with similar confusion on their faces.

Before he could ask Laswell any follow-up questions, the music stopped, and Laswell took a step back.

"'Scuse me, boys. I'm needed elsewhere."

She disappeared into the crowd just as Price and Nikolai appeared at the top of the staircase that overlooked the main hall.

Price wore a dark, tailored suit, one hand tucked awkwardly into his pocket as though he'd rather be elsewhere. Beside him, Nikolai stood in a matching suit, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Well," Price began, his voice carrying through the room, "first off, thank you all for coming.

The room quieted immediately.

"Small change of plans, though." He glanced sideways at Nikolai before looking back at the crowd. "In case it wasn't already painfully obvious… this isn't a retirement party."

The already quiet room seemed to get impossibly silent.

"Nikolai and I are gettin' married in about five minutes," Price continued plainly. "So… if everyone could head into the ceremony room and grab a seat, that'd be appreciated."

He gestured toward a set of large doors as the staff hurried to open them.

Soap just stared, completely dumfounded. Beside him, Gaz was doing his best not to choke on his champagne.

Someone coughed awkwardly, and suddenly the spell broke. Conversations erupted immediately as people began filing toward the next room in varying states of shock.

"You have got to be kidding me," Soap said weakly. Price caught his eye from across the room and jerked his head toward the side entrance.

Soap frowned until he saw Ghost finally make his appearance.

He wore a fitted midnight-black suit, a small boutonniere pinned neatly to his lapel. His usual skull mask had been replaced with a sleeker gaiter that matched the color of his suit.

Soap's jaw dropped.

Ghost frowned immediately. "What?"

"You knew?"

"Aye."

"You knew?"

Ghost looked genuinely confused by the outrage. "Thought everybody did."

"What are you talking about?" Soap sputtered.

Gaz jerked his thumb to the other people who were moving into the ceremony room. "Mate, everyone here thought this was a retirement party."

Ghost blinked once. "Why would Price host his retirement party here?"

Soap opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Laswell passed by then, patting Ghost once on the shoulder. "Come on, boys. Ceremony's starting."

Soap pointed accusingly between the two of them. "You knew too? Both of you knew?"

Laswell silenced him with a single look, making Gaz stifle a laugh. Soap muttered under his breath while he and Gaz headed into the ceremony room.

If it wasn't blatantly obvious before that this was a wedding, it was now.

Flowers climbed the walls in sprawling arrangements while candles lined the aisle. At the end of everything stood a simple square arch wrapped in equally elegant florals.

A few minutes later, the ceremony began. It was very short but still sincere.

Price and Nikolai walked down the aisle together. Ghost stood beside Price as his best man, while Laswell stood on Nikolai's side, looking far too smug about this whole thing.

The officiant gave a nice, simple speech before asking the two men if they'd like to spend the rest of their lives together. Price's "aye" came out a bit rough, while Nikolai's answering "da" sounded brighter than the candles surrounding them.

Their kiss was followed by warm applause before everyone was ushered into the reception hall.

By the time dinner ended, the atmosphere had completely shifted. A DJ replaced the string quartet, the candles had been extinguished, and the dance floor was alive.

Soap's mood had improved significantly, especially after Price had sent over a bottle of whiskey as an apology.

"Had to make sure you didn't go blabbin'," Price told him while making his rounds. Soap couldn't stay angry after that. Though he was still mildly offended Ghost hadn't said anything to him.

Ghost, meanwhile, caught onto Soap's sulking and became deeply entertained by it. Gaz joined in, making playful jabs that only got worse the more alcohol became involved.

Eventually, the DJ called the newlyweds up, and they stood in front of everyone, microphone in Price's hand.

"Alright," he grumbled slightly. "Got one more thing we need to take care of. Nik and I have one more thing we'd like to inflict upon you all before the evenin' ends."

Beside him, Nikolai held up a bundled pair of socks.

"Instead of a bouquet," Nikolai explains, "we toss these. Whoever catches them wins this."

He pulled a bottle of very expensive vodka from behind his back.

The reaction was immediate. Soon enough, almost everyone was standing on the dance floor.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look before immediately joining the crowd.

"Oh, absolutely not," Gaz muttered. "That bottle's mine."

"Like hell it is."

Music blasted through the speaker as Price took the socks from Nikolai. Without even fully turning around, he blindly tossed them over his shoulder.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Soap lunged for them at the same time Gaz did, the two of them slamming into each other as several other people tumbled in after them.

Meanwhile, Ghost effortlessly reached up and caught the bundle cleanly out of the air. Cheers and groans broke out around the room as the crowd started to disperse.

Ghost turned the socks over in his hand, brow lifting slightly as he read the embroidered text:

You're Next. Don't Get Cold Feet. Gaz barked out a laugh when he saw it. "Oh? You're next then, mate?" he teased.

Ghost glanced down at Soap, who was still hauling himself off the floor, and offered him a hand. Soap took it automatically.

"Seems like it," Ghost murmured. Before Soap could respond, Ghost tugged his mask down and pulled him into a firm kiss.

When he pulled back, Soap could only stare at him, completely blindsided for the second time that night.

"Better start writin' those vows, Johnny."

Divider: @cafekitsune

[ghouljams]

just keep thinking about gaz moseying up to an army recruitment booth and scoping out the various guns they have laid out on the table. immediately catching the eye of one of the guys behind the desk who thinks this'll be an easy sell (gaz is staring down the semi auto HARD) and starts going into his spiel about how great it is being in the army, all the benefits he gets yada yada, and he sort of smirks like "you wanna hold the gun?" and gaz is obviously going to say yes (he does want to hold the gun, count on the US military to bring out the good shit for a state fair).

which is the beginning of the end for this recruitment table because as soon as gaz his that gun in his hands he's checking it over to start disassembly. and once he starts there's no stopping him, the recruiter turns around to grab a pamphlet and when he turns back the gun is in pieces on the table while gaz inspects the parts.

he turns to grab his supervisor for help and soap has them pressed against the van asking if "dont ask dont tell" is still a thing

[ghostcaterwaul]

Reblog to gain creative energy and to give more creative energy to the person you reblogged this from.

[subtlehysteria]

May I add some Bloody to your Mary with a dash of Adrian-Simon bestism?

[important-cat-pics]

[gremlininho]

then & now ♡

[importantcatpics]

[sirov]

I JUST PUT THEM ON MY ISLAND

[catchymemes]

[nikiexe0]

*clears throat*

Imagine if Damian gets curse but he doesn't know what the curse is and maybe the others think the effects already disappeared so they're not too worried.

And imagine it's Bruce's birthday so Damian decides to draw bruces portrait on his sketchbook and not long after, Bruce dies :3

Or maybe he draws his family AND Bruce's poteaits and the family end up fighting and drifting away from each other and Bruce finally dies :D

[oboy049]

Imagine a complex painting that takes days and as they finish one person, they die, and he only continues bc he already started and is a way to cope with grieve and stuff but ofc it take a few of them dying to put 2+2 together so the painting remains undone and they will never pick a pencil again

[importantcatpics]

[karyotatsumi]

[importantcatpics]

[girl-lostconnection]

We haven’t circled back to hybrid aus for a long time, let’s fix that. Consider this — avian!141 with gn!Reader.

Rooster!Johnny who has always been the biggest presence in the room, who grins too wide when he notices you picking up his shimmering feathers because you like what you see, don’t you? Colourful plumage on his chest shifts from orange to dark red to almost black, soft feathers cushioning your head when he wraps you in his wings, huffing out air with laughter.

Rooster!Johnny likes his flock and likes his mates, but don’t you remember how territorial chickens are, m’eudail? He could just keep you all to himself, away from the rest and be happy to have all of your attention to himself. All the compliments and all the touches and all the love.

Would you like that? Tell him you like Johnny the best and then you can pluck another feather straight out of him, ‘kay?

Peacock!Price who hates the bloody tail and the staring it always brings, because he is not some show off. Peacock!Price who is used to fold it down and keep it close because you can’t exactly be flashy in his line of work if you don’t want a mercenary to wait for you in your shower when you get back home.

But you stare at him, stubborn and brilliant, arms crossed over the chest and fucking hell, he didn’t want to impress someone that badly since he was a green lad. And maybe that’s why his whole fucking monstrosity of a tail fans out — glimmers with the dozens of ‘eyes’, iridescent and embarrassingly obvious.

The worst thing is — he can’t make it stop, not when you look at it with such awe, because the bloody bird in him is stronger, because he is a weak man and wanted your eyes on him for entirely too long.

“Want a feather?” Price tilts his head, eyes heavy and heat climbing up his face when you quickly blink and look him back in the eyes. Actually dazed at the sight of his tail. “Can give you one. Evening, my bunk.” It is not a question or even an offer, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling too hard and something in his chest is spilling warm and satisfied.

Maybe there are some perks in having this stupid thing.

Eagle!Kyle who likes following you around whenever he has time, who spots you at gym and helps you at gun range. Pokes and prods until you grumble ‘fuck off, Garrick’, his grin widening — his claws graze your skin through the shirt when he pats your arm and has the nerve to huff out ‘easy, mate’.

Eagle!Kyle who has the time of his life chasing you through the building during escape trainings, he is faster than you’d like him to be and quieter than people give him credit for. Kyle catches you 9 times out of 10, but in that 1 time he doesn’t, you’d think Christmas came early with how wide he is smiling. Sweaty and tired, you both are covered in cement dust and scratches from where you took a tumble through the ruined floors.

Eagle!Kyle comes to your bunk more often than others realise, he brings his pillows and blanket — nestles next to you, ignoring the attempts to point out that it’s not a nest for him to construct with you. Kyle tucks you under his side, claws tracing the skin of your lower back when he slips his palm under your T-shirt. Strokes your back up and down, his wing draped over your shoulders to keep you close and warm.

Kyle knows that you will be out cold in a matter of minutes. Kyle knows that with how much you let him get away with, he’s got to be your favourite.

Mourning Dove!Simon who keeps watching you cuddle Johnny and gawk at Price and nest with Kyle. Simon no longer has his wings, not after torture and almost dying, he doesn’t take his mask off and he rarely is in anything other than black clothes covering as much skin as possible.

Mourning dove!Simon doesn’t like pity and doesn’t like the uncomfortable vulnerability. He doesn’t like you having this much power.

He doesn’t like that out of the whole flock he can offer the least. Simon’s feathers are very few nowadays, he isn’t plucking them out to win your favour and can’t offer you a chance to pick out the loose ones. Simon can’t fly and can’t wrap you in his wings, can’t keep you all cocooned and warm.

Simon Riley doesn’t really tell you that he is even an avian hybrid, because really, with how deficient he is, it’s probably best you think that he isn’t. Saves him the pity, the questions and the slimy disgust inside his own chest when he stares at the bathroom mirror and wants to pluck the remaining feathers out for good.

But dove parts of him still resurface when you sit between his legs, back pressed to his chest — head tilted so he can nose at your neck. It’s a subconscious thing at first when he starts nuzzling you there, less so when he rolls the mask up to mouth at your skin.

Barely a nibble, but you still make these short sighs, melting into him and wings he no longer has itch to clap against the back of the couch.

The quiet soft cooing his throat vibrates with when you put away your book and look at him, don’t catch him off guard only because he doesn’t notice them. Simon is too focused on your lips, his arms wrapping around your torso, nose nudges your cheek so you’d tilt your head more.

So he can catch your lips and then let go, nosing at your neck again, chest rumbling when you grow restless.

Mourning dove!Simon is shite at making nests so he lets you do it yourself and just weaves himself into it, content to have you as a weighted blanket — his chest tight when you nose at his neck too.

Doves mate for a very long time and here you are, courting him back like you actually mean it. Like you understand what he is now without the parts that made him appealing, that made him someone, that made him Simon.

There is only Ghost left and yet, you nibble at the skin on his neck, just to glance back up immediately. You are waiting for him to coo again, he realises slowly, jaw pressed together tightly because do you know what it means or do you just think it’s fun?

But the dove in him has been starved for this, the dove in him likes you as much as Simon does and the dove in him isn’t insecure.

“Can I ask something?” You mumble in a vulnerably space under his jaw one evening. Could rip the meat out there and he’d bleed out in a matter of minutes, Simon thinks lazily, his fingers slowly tapping against your ribs. He doesn’t answer but just makes a low questioning hum, too tired after a long mission. Too happy to have you in the nest and you this affectionate.

“Are you a pigeon?” You ask after a beat and Simon stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, some avian pride in him offended because do you think he is a flying rat, love? Is that so? So you don’t like him, that’s what he heard?

“Do I look that awful?” He asks in return, palm now lying on your ribs, up close to your heart so he can feel it rather than know it is there and still beating.

“No, you are rather handsome.” You are so deadpan that is difficult to say whether you are pulling his leg so just to be sure, Simon scoffs and doesn’t say anything. “So not a pigeon?” You try again after a moment and he just makes a short noncommittal sound.

You guessed what kind of eagle Kyle is on the first go and then you assumed Ghost a pigeon? Seems like maybe you don’t like him enough to put in some real effort.

Mourning dove!Simon doesn’t really want to admit to his hybrid half. It doesn’t matter anymore in any case. Simon is hardly anything other than what he is right now.

What’s the point of discussing the irony of his species’ name? What difference is it going to make if you know what he is no longer and never will be?

“I like your cooing.” You say suddenly and Ghost pauses, glancing down at you, his thumb slowly stroking the skin against your rib cage.

“Don’t be daft, luv, I don’t coo.” Simon says because he never did, only you nose at his throat again and it fucking vibrates with another soft cooing sound.

“Then I really like your not-cooing, l.t.” You breathe out in his skin and he can hear the smile in your voice. Simon can feel it when you nibble at his stubble, enjoying yourself so obviously the bloody cooing gets only louder.

Mourning dove!Simon may no longer have wings or abundance of beautiful feathers, he might even not know a thing about making a proper nest.

Mourning dove!Simon can hardly call himself an actual dove nowadays, but maybe there are still parts that he can let you see. And seems like you still want him with or without them.

[dailycatsblog]

[only-cat-memes]

[cider-deactivated20220724]

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