#be it Price or anything else!

[yeyinde]

How does it feel to be consistently referred to as THE price blog on tumblr? Do you ever wish your other work got as much love?

Always a supporter of everything you do xx

Ahhh, this is such a good question! I really had to think on it before answering (which is never a good sign because the more I think, the more I ramble).

I never really took it too seriously in the sense that I doubt people stumble across my blog who don't follow me, and immediately go, "ahh, the Price Blog." I think it's an inside joke, more than anything.

It can get a bit overwhelming in the sense that I don't feel like I deserve even the joke-y title (there are so many other really good writers for Price who are much more deserving, imo), and that I sometimes feel like I can't keep up with the constant demand for more of him. I feel bad when I haven't written anything for him in a while, and when the number in my inbox doesn't go down despite the amount I answer.

Overall, though - it's been really fun! I love getting sent stuff or tagged in stuff about Barry and Price. Whenever someone sends me an ask about him, or a link to art, or a tiktok, it really makes my day! I love the interaction (even though I've been quite MIA for a bit here 😅), and getting to explore different facets of this character. He is still arguably one of my favourite characters to write for, so my infatuation with him hasn't waned.

As for my other work - I'm more than happy with the attention all my fics have gotten! I started out pretty small in comparison to where I'm at now, and I'm always blown away by the amount of support everyone shows me!

Thank you so much for this!! 🖤

[specialagentartemis]

“young witch trying to solve the mystery of her neighbor’s missing cat in a small village in the Alps” continues to be hilarious don’t get me wrong but it’s kind of making me want to take a crack at treating the concept seriously. In this insular rural community, a cat goes missing. A young woman who takes her community’s professed ideals of helpfulness and harmony in witchcraft seriously volunteers to try to find him. Realizes the more she searches and the more she asks around that everyone in this idyllic village is quietly seething with resentment against their neighbors and against the world, that the insularity of her village is harboring a festering social rot that no one is allowed to address. No one can leave. The hills have fallen silent. Something is eating the cats and no one is allowed to address this. Ötzi is there

[fixfoxnox]

This is why I'm not the biggest fan of the Price is the dad of the 141 headcanons, because what people fail to understand is that the person on the leash is actually Price

[stellewriites]

fem!141 thirst traps

simon: he doesn’t take it himself, is mid-way through his routine when one of the lads takes it and sends it to him with the suggestion of forwarding it on to you.

he does so with an unrelated text, “be home in half hour. leg day tomorrow :(” and he doesn’t think anything of it until you send back a stream of 👀 & 💦 emojis and ask him to keep you fully updated with before and after pics of tomorrow’s leg progress. all angles, you specify.

price: you message her first, a curious “wuu2?” in hopes of curing your boredom, and boy does she fix it. she doesn’t mean for it to be a thirst trap but the casual show of height and strength in her relaxed posture has your interest piquing immediately and you’re bugging her for the next hour for more snippets into her gym routine until she finally catches on and sends you a steamy photo in the gym showers with a promise to come occupy your time in person.

gaz: she’d message you at stupid o’clock, something baity like “just finished my usual yoga routine, but it’s not hitting like it used to 😪 we should try couples yoga, don’t you think? you said you’ve been feeling tight recently, i can help with that.”

and i mean the flash of bicep and tease of bush was enough to turn you to putty but the idea of getting a little stretching done under her hands was certainly something you’d never say no to either.

johnny: johnny’s surprisingly clothed in hers; as long as she can flash the nipple piercings and the size of her hands, she’s golden. flexing and keeping her trackies low slung to flash a tan line is just the cherry on top, a little extra to reel you in.

it’s probably the only time she's subtle; as soon as you reply anything vaguely complimentary or suggestive she's sending absolute filth right back - whether it’s in voice notes, scrambled texts, pics of her hand down her pants or pulling at the collar of her sports bra to flash her tits. she just needed the suggestion of permission before getting started.

alternatives:

johnny/gaz: i think they’d like a bit of competition between themselves, would send it to you with a cheeky lilt to the message, “who’s been working harder, babe?” or maybe “who looks better?” if they’ve riled each other up too much and need a third opinion to decide who’s made the most progress since they’re lifting pretty much the same weight and their stamina is just about level.

when you reply a flirty, “think we’ll have to run some tests at home” they don’t waste time finishing their sets before leaving.

simon: he rarely sends a posed selfie but when you request it (and maybe send an example photo of yourself first) he’ll oblige with his face covered.

finds it funny when you promptly send it back with red circles dotted all over and an almost blunt text, “this is where i’m going to bite you when you get home”, only there isn’t really any patch of skin you haven’t circled twice over.

price: she’s another one, like simon, that’s likely to have the lads take a candid photo and suggest she sends it to her missus. price would be in the locker room, half changed and laughing at something soap was saying when she catches gaz out of the corner of her eye.

it’s takes all three of them badgering her to send it unlike simon who did it without needing much convincing. but she’s glad to have given in when you send your own gym selfie back - tight workout shorts practically eaten up by the curves of your arse and thick thighs. one hand is pulling up your baggy shirt so she gets an unhindered view and she can see your cheeky smile in the reflection of the mirror.

[cod-thoughts]

Kiss your husband goodnight

Word count: 5.7

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik, Ghost&Price, team as family

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposal, fluff

Price has had the week from hell—missions gone sideways, paperwork piling up, and no sleep to speak of. The team is at their wits' end trying to get him to rest, so they call in the one person they know he’ll listen to: Nikolai. What starts as an attempt to drag a sleep-deprived, stubborn Price to bed turns into something much bigger when Price, half-asleep and unfiltered, says something that changes everything. Nikolai isn’t about to let the moment slip by, and when the morning comes, they’ll both face the future with newfound certainty. Featuring: A very tired Captain Price, Nikolai at his most patient, Ghost quietly emotional but terrible at saying so and Soap and Gaz being concerned. Read under the cut or on AO3

John Price had survived countless harrowing missions, led his team through fire and hell, and stared death in the eye more times than he cared to count. But this week—this endless, relentless week—had stripped him down to his barest threads. It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was the weight of everything he carried, compounded by the frustrating, unforgiving grind of bureaucratic cleanup.

Two overlapping missions had run him ragged. The first—a covert extraction in hostile territory—had gone sideways the moment they hit the ground. Faulty intel left his team pinned down for hours, forced to fight tooth and nail for their lives. By the time they reached the extraction point, battered and bloody, Price had been awake for over thirty hours. There’d been no time to recover before the second mission, a high-profile joint op that demanded precision coordination. They’d pulled it off, but the delays, unexpected terrain challenges, and sheer physical toll had pushed them all to their limits.

Price took the brunt of it, as he always did. His team relied on him to lead, to make the hard calls, to bear the responsibility when things went wrong. And when they finally returned to base, bruised and weary, the mountain of paperwork that awaited him was almost enough to break his spirit.

He’d been at it for days, skipping meals, ignoring the ache in his back, and pretending he didn’t notice the concerned looks from Soap and Gaz. Even Ghost, usually reserved, had hovered more than usual, his sharp gaze following Price’s every move.

Now, Price sat hunched over his desk, the dim overhead light casting long shadows across the room. Reports and casualty lists were scattered in uneven piles, half of them smudged with his hurried writing. A cold cup of coffee sat forgotten to his left, the bitter scent mingling with the faint tang of gun oil still lingering on his skin. His pen scratched against the paper, but the words blurred, refusing to cooperate. His hand trembled faintly as he tried to steady it.

A knock at the door barely registered. It came again, louder this time.

“Captain?” Soap’s voice cut through the haze.

Price grunted, not looking up. “Busy.”

The door creaked open, and Soap stepped inside, his expression carefully neutral. “You’ve been at it all day, sir. Just thought—”

“I said I’m busy,” Price snapped, his voice sharper than intended. He didn’t have the energy to soften it.

Soap hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Ghost’s got somethin’ to say about that.”

Price sighed heavily as Ghost stepped into the room, his presence commanding without effort. The mask did little to hide the frustration in his eyes.

“John.” His voice was low, measured. “You need to stop.”

“Not now,” Price muttered, turning back to his papers. His pen froze mid-sentence, and he had to blink to remember where he’d left off.

“You look like you’re about to drop,” Ghost said bluntly. He crossed his arms, his posture rigid with concern. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“There’s too much to do,” Price argued, though the conviction in his voice wavered. “Can’t afford to stop now.”

“You can’t afford not to,” Ghost countered. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse.”

Price slumped back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. For a moment, the weight of the week caught up with him, pressing against his chest like a vice. He hated this—hated being seen like this, hated the worry in their eyes.

“Look,” Soap said carefully, stepping closer. “We get it, alright? You’ve got a lot on your plate. But you’re not alone in this, sir. Let us help.”

Price shook his head, his exhaustion cutting through any attempt at politeness. “Just leave it. I’ve got this handled.”

Soap and Ghost exchanged a glance, their silent communication speaking volumes. Without another word, they stepped out into the hallway.

---

The plan was hatched quickly.

Soap leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched Ghost pace. “He can’t keep going like this. He’s gonna work himself into the ground.”

“I don’t think we’ve got a choice,” Gaz added, his tone edged with frustration. “He’s not listening to a damn thing we say.”

Ghost stopped, his gaze lingering on Price’s closed door. His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. “We call Nikolai.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he on an op right now? You think he’ll drop everything to come all the way here?”

“You think he wouldn’t?” Ghost countered, his tone sharper than usual. “He’d move heaven and earth for Price.”

Gaz nodded slowly. “Fair point. You think it’ll work?”

“It has to,” Ghost said simply.

The three of them exchanged a glance, the weight of the decision settling over them. They all knew how Price would react when he found out—stubborn as ever, gruff and probably annoyed at the interference. But they also knew this wasn’t about what Price wanted. It was about what he needed.

“Right,” Soap said, pushing off the wall. “Who’s making the call?”

“I will,” Ghost said without hesitation. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.

Gaz stepped forward, leaning against the table as Ghost raised the phone to his ear. “Think Price’ll forgive us for going behind his back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ghost said, his tone clipped. “Better to have him pissed off and alive.”

The phone rang twice before Nikolai answered, his voice warm and steady. “Simon? What is this about? I did not expect to hear from you yet.”

Ghost’s posture eased slightly at the familiar tone, but his words came out firm and measured. “It’s Price. He’s in a bad way.”

The warmth in Nikolai’s voice vanished, replaced by sharp concern. “What happened? Is he hurt?”

“Not physically,” Ghost reassured. “But he’s run himself into the ground. He hasn’t slept in days, hasn’t eaten properly. Keeps saying he’s fine, but he’s not. He’s working himself to death.”

A sharp intake of breath came through the line, followed by a moment of silence. When Nikolai spoke again, his voice was lower, edged with determination. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since we got back from the last mission,” Ghost said. “The bastard hasn’t stopped since we hit the tarmac. Paperwork, reports, mission briefs, meetings, you name it. We’ve tried reasoning with him, ordering him to rest, even taking things off his plate. Nothing’s worked.”

Soap leaned closer, his voice cutting in from the background. “We thought maybe you could talk some sense into him. He’ll listen to you.”

Another pause, then Nikolai’s voice softened. “You did the right thing calling me. I will be there tonight”

“You sure?” Ghost asked, his tone unreadable. “We’re asking a lot.”

“Of course,” Nikolai replied without hesitation. “It is John, there is no question.”

Gaz let out a quiet sigh of relief, stepping away to give Ghost space. Soap, however, lingered, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“You think you can get him to rest?” Soap asked, his tone equal parts hopeful and doubtful.

Nikolai chuckled softly, though there was a hint of tension beneath it. “I have my methods. And John knows better than to argue too much.”

Soap grinned faintly. “You say that, but it’s bad this time Nik.”

“I have my ways.”

Ghost shifted, his fingers tapping idly against his leg. “Nik, it’s bad, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s not just tired; he’s wearing himself down to nothing. We’re really worried about him.”

“I understand,” Nikolai said, his voice steady. “I will handle it, Simon. Just keep him where he is until I arrive.”

Ghost nodded, even though Nikolai couldn’t see him. “Don’t think he’s gonna move but we will. Thanks, Nik.”

“No need to thank me yet,” Nikolai said lightly. “Save that for when he has rested.”

The call ended with a faint click, and Ghost slipped the phone back into his pocket. For a moment, he stood silently, his gaze fixed on Price’s closed door.

Soap clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, here’s hoping Nik can work his magic.”

Gaz smiled faintly, though there was still a shadow of worry in his expression. “He’s our last resort.”

Ghost didn’t respond, but the set of his jaw and the sharp focus in his eyes said enough. If anyone could pull Price back from the brink, it was Nikolai.

---

Nikolai’s arrival was a quiet affair. He found Ghost waiting for him in the corridor, the tension in his posture betraying the worry he didn’t voice.

“Where is he?” Nikolai asked.

“Office,” Ghost replied. “Hasn’t moved all night.”

Nikolai nodded, his expression unreadable as he pushed open the door.

Price didn’t even look up. He was slumped over the desk, his head resting in one hand, his eyes barely open.

“John,” Nikolai said softly.

Price blinked, slow and dazed. “Nik?”

“Yes, my love,” Nikolai said, moving closer. “It is me.”

Price’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Saving you from yourself,” Nikolai said gently. He crouched beside him, resting a hand on Price’s knee. “Come to bed, Mishka.”

Price’s response was a low grumble, something half-hearted about needing to finish. But his body betrayed him, leaning instinctively into Nikolai’s touch.

“You are done,” Nikolai said firmly. “Come.”

Soap leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. Gaz stood beside him, half-hidden in the shadows, while Ghost loomed nearby, his posture stiff and tense. None of them had dared follow Nikolai into the office, but they didn’t need to. The door was ajar, and the low, muffled tones of the conversation carried easily through the quiet corridor.

When the door finally opened, Nikolai emerged, one arm steadying a very dazed John Price. The captain leaned heavily against him, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His usual commanding presence had dissolved into something unsettlingly fragile, and Ghost’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask.

Soap tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Would you look at that. Never thought I’d see the Captain so... domesticated.”

“Shut it,” Ghost muttered, his voice lower than usual.

Soap blinked, his grin faltering slightly at the sharpness of Ghost’s tone, but he didn’t comment. Gaz glanced up, frowning slightly, but his attention quickly returned to Price.

As they drew closer, Price mumbled something under his breath, his voice too low to catch. Nikolai murmured a reply in return, his tone gentle but firm, and Price let out a huff that was almost a laugh.

“‘Spose you think you’re real clever,” Price mumbled, his words slurred and softened by exhaustion. He stumbled slightly, and Nikolai caught him with ease, his arm tightening around Price’s waist.

“Always,” Nikolai said simply, his smile faint but fond. “Keep moving, Mishka.”

Soap raised an eyebrow at the nickname, his grin returning. “Mishka, eh? Wonder what that means.”

Gaz elbowed him lightly. “Probably something you’re not meant to know.”

They were close enough now to hear Price more clearly, though his words were still slow and unfiltered. He blinked up at Nikolai, his head tilting slightly as though seeing him for the first time. “You’re a handsome bastard, y’know that?”

Soap nearly choked on his laughter. Gaz clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a snort, while Ghost stood rigid, his gaze fixed on Price.

Nikolai didn’t so much as flinch. “Of course I know. Keep walking, John.”

Price stumbled again, and this time he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Don’t deserve you,” he muttered, his head lolling against Nikolai’s shoulder. “You’re too good to me.”

“You deserve more than you know,” Nikolai replied, his voice soft enough that only Price could hear.

Ghost’s hands tightened at his sides. He’d never seen Price like this—so unguarded, so utterly drained. The sight left an uncomfortable weight in his chest, one that wouldn’t lift even as Soap and Gaz exchanged amused glances.

“Never seen him like this,” Gaz murmured, his voice quiet. It was meant for Soap, but Ghost heard it clearly.

“Neither have I,” Ghost replied, his voice low, almost hesitant. He didn’t look at Gaz or Soap, his focus entirely on Price.

As they reached the door to Price’s quarters, Nikolai paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes met Ghost’s for a moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—an unspoken understanding, maybe even a reassurance. He nodded once, barely perceptible, before turning his attention back to Price.

“You are alright,” Nikolai murmured, his voice meant for Price but loud enough for Ghost to catch. “Let me get you to bed.”

Price blinked slowly, his brow furrowing slightly as though sensing the tension in the room. His head lolled to the side, his tired gaze meeting Ghost’s. “Oi, Simon,” he muttered, his words sluggish but recognisable. “Don’t look so bloody grim. I’m fine. Nik’s got me.”

The words, though barely coherent, seemed to hit their mark. Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction, though the unease in his eyes didn’t fade completely.

“Get some rest, John,” Ghost said finally, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Price gave a small nod, his eyelids already drooping, and Nikolai guided him into the room without another word. The door clicked shut, leaving the team in the hallway.

Soap let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “Well, that was bloody adorable.”

Gaz grinned faintly, though his gaze lingered on the door. “You reckon he’ll remember any of that tomorrow?”

“Not a chance,” Soap said with a laugh. Then he glanced at Ghost, his smile faltering slightly. “You alright?”

Ghost nodded stiffly, his eyes still on the door. “Yeah. He’ll be alright now.”

Soap gave him a curious look but didn’t press, instead clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s hope Nik works his magic.”

As Soap and Gaz moved down the hallway, Ghost lingered for a moment longer, his thoughts still on the man he’d just seen. It wasn’t just the exhaustion or the uncharacteristic softness in Price’s voice that unsettled him—it was the fragility of it all, the reminder that even John Price wasn’t invincible.

With a quiet sigh, Ghost turned and followed the others, the weight in his chest easing slightly but not entirely gone.

Nikolai guided Price into the room, his arm still looped securely around the other man’s waist. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a pocket of quiet, away from the amused murmurs and prying eyes of the team. Price mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling against Nikolai’s shoulder as they shuffled toward the bed.

“You are hopeless,” Nikolai murmured softly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I do not know how you have made it this far on your own.”

Price let out a low chuckle, his weight sagging further into Nikolai’s side. “Don’t need to do it on my own. Got you, haven’t I?”

The words were slurred, softened by exhaustion, but they carried a warmth that hit Nikolai square in the chest. He tightened his hold on Price, his steps steady as he manoeuvred them closer to the bed.

“Sit,” Nikolai instructed as they reached the edge. He eased Price down carefully, his hands firm but gentle as he guided him. “Let me get you comfortable.”

Price blinked at him, his expression bleary but faintly amused. “Comfortable, eh? That an excuse to get my clothes off, Nik?”

Nikolai huffed a quiet laugh, crouching to untie Price’s boots. “You are insufferable when you get like this.”

“Like what?” Price asked, his head tilting slightly as he tried to focus on Nikolai’s hands.

“Overtired and full of nonsense,” Nikolai replied, pulling one boot free with a practiced tug. “You are lucky I love you.”

Price hummed softly, a sound of sleepy satisfaction. “Love you too,” he muttered, his voice so quiet Nikolai almost missed it.

Nikolai paused for just a moment, not used to hearing it said in such a carefree way, his fingers tightening briefly on the laces of the second boot. Then he resumed his task, slipping the boot off and setting it aside before straightening. “Up,” he said gently, reaching for Price’s belt.

Price blinked slowly, his hands fumbling weakly to help. “What’re you doin’?”

“Getting you out of these uncomfortable clothes,” Nikolai replied, his tone patient but firm. “You can barely keep your eyes open. Let me take care of you.”

Price let his hands drop, his resistance melting away under Nikolai’s steady touch. As Nikolai worked the buckle loose, Price leaned forward slightly, his forehead brushing against Nikolai’s shoulder. “You really are too good to me,” he mumbled.

“You have mentioned this, yes,” Nikolai said with a soft smile, slipping the belt free and moving to unbutton Price’s shirt. He worked quickly but carefully, his fingers deft as they pushed the fabric off Price’s shoulders. “Arms up.”

Price obeyed without protest, his movements sluggish but cooperative. As the shirt fell away, Nikolai couldn’t help but notice the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the way his body seemed weighed down by more than just exhaustion.

“Lie back,” Nikolai murmured, his hands steady as he guided Price down onto the mattress. He adjusted the pillow beneath his head, smoothing the blanket over him with a practiced ease. “There. Better?”

Price let out a contented sigh, his eyes already drifting shut. “Much.”

For a moment, Nikolai thought he might finally succumb to sleep. But then Price’s eyes cracked open again, his gaze hazy but focused on Nikolai’s face. A lopsided smile tugged at his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice soft and slurred, “you’re the best husband ever.”

The words hung in the air, unassuming yet powerful, slipping from Price’s lips as though they’d always been true. Nikolai froze, his breath catching in his chest. He stared down at Price, his heart thundering as the weight of the statement settled over him.

Husband.

Price’s eyes fluttered closed again, his breathing evening out as he sank further into the bed. He didn’t seem to realise what he’d said—or maybe he did, in some half-conscious, sleep-addled way. Either way, the words hit Nikolai like a hammer, cracking something open inside him.

For a long moment, Nikolai didn’t move. His hand rested lightly on the blanket, his gaze fixed on Price’s face as a rush of emotions flooded through him. Love, joy, and something deeper—something unshakable and certain.

Finally, he reached out, brushing a hand through Price’s hair in a gentle, grounding gesture. “Sleep, Mishka,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “I will be here.”

Price didn’t respond. His breathing had already deepened, the last vestiges of consciousness slipping away. Nikolai stayed beside him, his thoughts spinning with the possibilities that lay ahead. For the first time in years, the future felt close enough to touch.

---

Once Price had finally drifted off, his breathing deep and steady, Nikolai remained seated at the edge of the bed. The stillness of the room wrapped around him, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket over Price’s chest. The sight of John—so utterly unguarded, his face softened in sleep—made something ache in Nikolai’s chest. He brushed his fingers gently over Price’s knuckles where they peeked out from under the blanket, a soft, grounding touch.

The quiet brought with it a wave of thoughts Nikolai hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on before now. He couldn’t leave—not yet. It didn’t feel right to walk away, not when John had finally surrendered, finally let someone take care of him. Nikolai leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his hand still resting lightly on Price’s shoulder. The warmth beneath his fingers was steady, soothing, anchoring him even as his mind began to race.

Husband.

The word had tumbled out of John’s lips without hesitation, soft and slurred but unmistakably sincere. Nikolai closed his eyes, letting the sound of it echo in his mind.

Husband.

He hadn’t expected it—not here, not now, not like this. Price had never been one for grand declarations, especially when it came to emotions. Their relationship had always been built on quiet certainties, gestures that spoke louder than words: a hand on his back during a tense briefing, a rare smile shared over a late-night cup of tea, the way Price’s shoulders eased when Nikolai was near.

But this? This was something different. Something new. And yet, it wasn’t, not really. Nikolai had thought of Price as his partner in every sense of the word for years. The idea of marriage had crossed his mind more than once—first as a fleeting notion, later as a quiet hope that settled into his heart. He’d bought the ring on a whim, drawn to its understated elegance. It wasn’t flashy or overly ornate, but it felt right, much like their relationship: steady, solid, and unshakeably certain.

The ring had sat in his drawer ever since, waiting for a moment that never seemed to come. Nikolai had told himself he was waiting for the right time, but now he wondered if he’d just been waiting for reassurance—for some sign that John wanted the same thing.

And now, John had given it to him. Husband. The word felt like a promise, even if Price hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Nikolai leaned back slightly, studying the man who had unknowingly turned his world upside down with a single sleepy murmur. Price looked so different like this—peaceful, vulnerable, the lines of exhaustion on his face softened by sleep. It wasn’t a sight Nikolai often got to see, and he felt a quiet pang of guilt for letting things get this far. Price was so used to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, so used to putting everyone else first, that he rarely let himself rest.

That ends now, Nikolai thought. He would make sure of it. For all the strength Price showed to the world, he deserved someone who would stand beside him, who would remind him that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

The decision settled in Nikolai’s chest, warm and certain. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the small velvet box that had been tucked away for so long, that he couldn’t bare to be parted from even after all these years. He turned it over in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over the edge of the lid. The ring was still there, gleaming faintly in the dim light. It felt like it had been waiting for this moment, just as much as he had.

Tomorrow, Nikolai thought. No more waiting.

---

Price stirred slowly, dragged from the depths of sleep by the faint sound of birds outside the window and the warm press of a hand resting gently on his arm. His body ached with the dull, lingering heaviness that came from days of pushing too hard, his muscles protesting even the smallest movement. It took a moment for his surroundings to register—the familiar weight of his duvet, the clean scent of his bedlinen mingling faintly with something more distinctive: Nikolai’s cologne.

Nikolai's cologne?

His eyes opened sluggishly, the light filtering through the curtains making him squint. His head turned toward the figure sitting beside him, and for a moment, confusion flickered across his face. Nikolai was there, perched on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes watchful.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Price croaked, his voice rough with sleep and the strain of too many late nights.

Nikolai’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “Good morning to you too, Mishka.”

Price groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Morning,” he muttered, though the word came out more like a grumble. His brow furrowed as his mind tried to catch up. “What time is it?”

“Almost midday,” Nikolai replied, his tone steady but warm.

“Midday?” Price blinked, his mind slowly piecing together the words. “Bloody hell…”

“You needed it,” Nikolai said simply, his hand still resting lightly on Price’s arm. “I was not about to let you keep going like you were.”

Price let out a huff of laughter, though it lacked his usual sharpness. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

Nikolai’s expression softened, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You really do not remember, do you?”

Price frowned, his hand falling to his side as he tried to think. “Not a damn thing.”

For a moment, Nikolai was quiet, his fingers brushing absently over the blanket covering Price. Then he let out a soft breath, his tone careful but unwavering. “Simon called me. He were worried about you, they all were—and rightly so. You have not been taking care of yourself.”

Price’s frown deepened, his gaze dropping to the blanket as fragments of memory surfaced—muffled voices, Nikolai’s steady presence, the feel of being led down the hallway. “They shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, though his words lacked conviction. “I had it under control.”

“Did you?” Nikolai asked gently, tilting his head. The question wasn’t sharp or accusatory, but it cut through Price’s weak protest all the same.

Price sighed, his shoulders slumping as the fight left him. “Guess not,” he admitted quietly.

“Guess not,” Nikolai echoed with a faint smile. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from Price’s forehead. The gesture was tender, grounding, and Price leaned into it instinctively.

“So you dragged me to bed?” Price asked after a moment, his voice rougher now, tinged with self-consciousness as he sat up on bed, the blanket pooling at his waist.

“I did,” Nikolai said, his smile widening slightly upon seeing a sleep-ruffled Price. “And you did not make it easy.”

Price huffed, though the sound was more embarrassed than annoyed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nikolai hesitated for only a moment before his hand drifted toward his pocket. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he were weighing every motion. “It means,” he said softly, “you said something last night. Something I cannot stop thinking about.”

Price’s brow furrowed again, his confusion clear as Nikolai withdrew the small velvet box. The air seemed to still as Nikolai opened it, revealing the ring inside. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the faint gleam of the metal, and Price’s breath hitched.

“Nik…” he began, but the words faltered on his lips.

“You called me your husband,” Nikolai said, his voice steady despite the emotion that thickened the air between them. “You were half-asleep, but you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Price stared at him, his eyes flicking between the ring and Nikolai’s face. He looked as though he were trying to piece together a puzzle, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and something deeper.

“You called me your husband,” Nikolai repeated, his voice quieter now. “And I cannot pretend it meant nothing to hear it.”

For a moment, Price didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he raised a hand to his face, scrubbing at his eyes. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice thick. “I… I said that?”

“You did,” Nikolai said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “And I would like to make it true.”

The words hung in the air, soft but unyielding. Nikolai held the ring out between them, his gaze steady. “John Price,” he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty, “will you marry me?”

Price froze. His breath caught in his chest, and for a long moment, he simply stared, his mind racing. Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them, spilling over as he let out a shaky breath.

“Nik,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I…”

Nikolai reached for him, his hand brushing against Price’s arm in a grounding gesture. “If this is not what you want—”

“Yes,” Price interrupted, his voice breaking. He lowered his hand, his tears falling freely now, but his smile was radiant. “Yes, Nik. Of course, yes.”

Relief washed over Nikolai in a wave, his shoulders sagging as he let out a quiet laugh. He slid the ring onto Price’s finger with practiced care, his hands steady despite the overwhelming rush of emotion. Price stared at the ring for a long moment, his lips pressing together as fresh tears welled in his eyes.

“You’re sure about this?” Price asked finally, his voice raw. “You really want to marry an old bastard like me?”

Nikolai let out a soft laugh, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of Price’s head. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Price let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, pulling Nikolai into a tight embrace. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the world outside fading into nothing as they held each other. For the first time in days, Price felt something ease—a weight lifting from his chest, replaced by something warm and unshakable.

They stayed like that for a while, the quiet settling over them like a warm blanket. Price’s breathing slowed, steady and calm, his fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the blanket as though grounding himself. Nikolai stayed close, his arms wrapped securely around Price, letting the moment stretch. There was no need for words—not now. The tension that had haunted Price for days seemed to have melted away, leaving only the quiet certainty of the present.

A knock at the door broke the stillness, soft but insistent.

“Captain?” Soap’s voice carried through, its usual lightness subdued but still familiar. “We’ve got some food for you. Can we come in?”

Price shifted slightly, his hands dropping to his lap as he sat up. His head tilted toward the door, and he wiped at his face with one hand, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Give us a minute,” he called, his voice hoarse but steady.

Nikolai leaned back, studying him for a moment before brushing a hand lightly over his arm. “Are you ready?”

Price nodded, his eyes still shining faintly with emotion but his expression calm. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Nikolai stood first, offering Price a steadying hand as he got to his feet. Price accepted it without hesitation, his fingers tightening briefly around Nikolai’s before letting go. Together, they turned toward the door, and Nikolai gave a small nod.

“Come in,” he said, his voice carrying the warmth of someone who knew exactly what waited on the other side.

The door opened cautiously, Soap stepping in first with Gaz close behind. Both of them carried trays, the smell of hot food wafting into the room, but their eyes were immediately drawn to Price. He stood by the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes still slightly red-rimmed. Nikolai stood close beside him, his arm resting lightly at Price’s back in a gesture so natural it barely registered.

“What’s happened?” Ghost’s voice came from behind the others, softer than usual but edged with concern as he stepped into view. His gaze flicked over Price, his posture tensing as he took in the faint tear tracks still visible on his captain’s face.

Soap froze, his tray wobbling slightly as he glanced at Nikolai. “We’re not interruptin’, are we?”

“Not at all,” Nikolai replied smoothly, his hand giving a subtle, reassuring press to Price’s back.

Price lifted his hand then, the small silver ring catching the light. The gesture was simple but carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said yet.

Nikolai smiled softly, his voice steady as he added, “I finally proposed.”

The room went silent, the words hanging in the air like a sudden drop of weight. Soap’s tray dipped precariously before he caught himself, his mouth falling open slightly.

“Proposed?” Gaz repeated, his voice rising with a mix of surprise and joy. His grin spread slowly, lighting up his face. “Bloody hell, about time!”

Soap recovered quickly, setting the tray down on the nearest surface with a loud clatter. “Aye, no kidding!” he crowed, clapping his hands together. “Congratulations, Cap. And you, Nik! This is brilliant!”

Ghost didn’t say anything right away. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate as he reached out, his hand settling heavily on Price’s shoulder. His grip was firm, steady, and when Price met his gaze, something unspoken passed between them.

“Congratulations, John,” Ghost said finally, his voice softer than usual. “You deserve this.”

Price smiled, his hand reaching up to clasp Ghost’s shoulder briefly before pulling him into a hug. It was solid, grounding, a rare gesture that carried all the weight of their shared history. Ghost stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, his hand clapping against Price’s back.

“Proud of you,” Ghost murmured, his voice low but warm. “But if he hurts you I’ll gut him like a fish, yeah?”

“Thank you, Simon,” Price replied with a laugh, but full of emotion as he pulled back.

Soap let out a cheer, breaking the moment as he strode over to Nikolai. Without hesitation, he threw an arm around Nikolai in a one-sided hug, grinning like he’d just won a bet. “You’ve got my blessing, mate—not that you needed it.”

Gaz was next, his hug more measured but no less genuine. “Couldn’t be happier for you two,” he said with a smile. “Seriously.”

Even Ghost’s expression softened as he glanced at Nikolai. Though he didn’t hug him, he gave a faint nod of approval, the weight of it clear.

The room filled with laughter and congratulations as the initial shock wore off. Soap clapped Nikolai on the back one more time before turning his attention to the food, while Gaz hovered close, still grinning. Price stood steady in the centre of it all, Nikolai at his side, their connection unspoken but unbreakable.

“You lot brought food, didn’t you?” Price asked after a moment, his tone teasing but warm.

Soap gestured toward the trays. “Aye, that we did. Figured you’d be starvin’ after sleepin’ the day away.”

“Not quite the whole day,” Price muttered, though his lips quirked into a small smile.

As the team settled in, their laughter and easy banter filling the space, Price glanced toward Nikolai. The smile they shared was quiet, private, but it spoke volumes.

For the first time in a long time, Price allowed himself to believe in the promise of the future—and the certainty that Nikolai would be by his side through it all.

[ghouldtime]

This has probably been done before but if TF141 is dressing as anything for Halloween it's the penguins of Madagascar

Captain Price is Skipper, Ghost is Kowalski, Soap is Rico, and Gaz is Private

I'm not taking suggestions, this is cannon and you can't tell me otherwise

[longmaxsilvarg]

every time i remember max wearing chloe's necklace in the last episode my heart shatters into 89,000 pieces all over again

[hopeslastkiss]

'bad ending' solas and rook (pt.iii)

three women (a poem for three voices) by syliva plath / dragon age: veilguard / @mordicat_art / demons by fyodor dostoevsky / grief lessons: four plays by euripides tr. by ann carson / 'tyr and fenrir' (1911) by john bauer / forgive me my salt by brenna twohy / grief lessons: four plays by euripides tr. by ann carson / five of swords tarot art from mindeasy / an ideal husband by oscar wilde / 'jesus and barabbas' (2014) by giovanni gasparro / these violent delights by micah nemerever / 'lie from peripety' series (2008) by jen mazza / dragon age promo art / staking a claim by erika meitner / two werewolves (unk.) by john charles dollman

(pt.i - pt.ii)

[pricegouge]

unfortunately due to @quarterlifekitty @angellake and @fulltacs yammering at me about these posts, i can't stop thinking about price and a little fairy sized reader so uh. here's this very specific ass thing.

unlucky foot

cw: f!reader. microphilia, abduction, dubcon/noncon, overstimulation, objectification, orgasm control. oral, but make it as weird as possible i guess. noncon bodymod. he's cut off her wings but it's off-screen and not described. extremely wrong fairy lore MDNI

his name is price. you've only gathered that recently, after overhearing so many of his conversations. he'd never bothered to introduce himself, had simply snuck up on you in his garden one day, sudden shadow eclipsing the warm wash of sun over your naked skin the only warning you got before he'd snatched you up in rough fingers, his grip crumpling a wing so you couldn't escape even of you'd managed to wriggle your way free. he'd since cut them off entirely, a phantom ache in your back every time your nerves kick in, make you flighty.

well, try to, at least.

mankind has a way of stripping the world around them bare, taking the essence of creature and leaving it limping away. call it a mercy to have let it live. rabbits and their feet, etcetera. fairy honey - the slick that drips from between your thighs, nectar-sweet and filled with the addictive zing of magic - is your unlucky foot. it's what got you caught in the first place, got the freedom of mobility ripped from you. your trapper even wears it like a status symbol.

you've met other unfortunate fairies since being with him. they all stared at you in pity from between the bars of the cages they were locked in. price didn't even bother with one, kept you tucked into his breast pocket when not in use because he knew you would never make it far. a fall from his pocket alone might kill you, the towering beast. still, the pocket is preferable. a lack of wings isn't the only thing that draws pity from your fellow captives.

"me, ah like mah honey best in mah tea," the man declares. soap, price has called him. an odd name for such a vulgar man. "perfect amount of sweetness. an' my girl, she's always ripe first thing in the morn'."

the girl tosses her head at his words, embarrassed. or maybe at his ministrations, blunt fingertip working between her legs as she arches and cried under him, her honey leaking onto his finger, copious enough it drips down to his knuckle when he leaves her squirming, unsatisfied, just to swirl his dirty finger into his steaming drink. you hope it burns, sloughs his finger tip right off. he barely even flinches.

on the table, shaking pleasure, his girl composes herself enough to try crawling away. she doesn't make it very far before being dumped back into her cage, but even still you envy her.

price's teeth clench around you, blunted edges of his molars dimpling your skin, holding you in place off to the side of his mouth so he can use his tongue for its intended purpose for once, growling a response in a voice deep enough to rattle around your skull. you don't think you'll ever be used to it. "don't need all the fanfare."

by fanfare he means food. drink, maybe. anything to dilute the potency. most humans, they milk their girls much like soap had, work them until their shaking in overstimulation and dripping like a font. price had never bothered with the middle man, preferred a direct line to his greatest addiction, kept you tucked under his tongue more often than not, the itchy hairs of his mustache tickling your nipples. he'd suck on you occasionally, tongue your cunt as an afterthought when he remembered you weren't one of the thick cigars he sometimes smoked - that you needed more to give him what he wanted. at least he's quite accommodating, when he does remember.

soap reminds him, it seems, his throaty groan when he tips back his cup enough to have price hollowing his cheeks. your cunt pulses lazily, the traitor, skin gone sensitive and pruney with his saliva. he's been doing this all morning, sufficing himself on the slow leak of honey he draws from you rather than a proper dose. you kick at him feebly, one leg trapped between his teeth as the other tries to fend off his tongue. he's well-used to your antics by now, simply shifts you up to roof of his mouth so your soft belly scrapes threateningly across his incisors before letting you settle into the bowl of his jaw. his tongue widens when he pulls it back towards his throat, bullies into your core until you're bandy-legged, sprawled so wide around the muscle that your toes catch on his molars. he suckles at you again, hard. enough so that you can feel it tugging at every inch of you, enough that it draws you minutely further into his mouth. his lips are soft, slick. not the worst thing he's ever slid you across.

"likes tha', does she?"

price shrugs, pushes you off to the side of his mouth again. "likes it enough," he replies, much to soap's amusement, and works his tongue against you expertly as if to prove his point. it's hard to stay stoic even when you want to, his tongue so hot and overwhelming. you're too busy trying to keep your moans stifled to notice how he twists you, rolling your around until his bottom teeth dig up under your ribs, uncomfortable enough that you try to push against his chin just to keep your weight off them.

he doesn't make you suffer for long, at least. a hairy finger wedges under your belly, another hooking over your back. he pulls you from between his teeth like he'd hold a cigar, your plump ass on display for him when your legs fall from his mouth. you hang there, limp, the fight gone from you even as you can't meet the other fairy's eyes. you just want to cum, want him to return you to his pocket so you can burrow into the warmth of it and hide your naked body from his friend's prying eyes. instead, he twists his hand around to show soap the shine of your honey leaking from your cunt, graciously offers the man a taste.

you shudder and huff when soap's tongue drags over you, face burning with the realization that price doesn't even care enough to notice your pleasure.

soap groans again, deeper than before, like he suddenly finds his tea insufficient. "got ye'self a sweet one," he praises, and john hums in agreement, thumbs some more slick from your cunt just to lick it clean.

"and pretty," he adds, turning you about on his palm so he can show you off properly, callused finger ghosting over your exposed belly. "could use some piercings, though, what do you think? get her nipples done so i don't harm my teeth... get her a nice chain. could turn her into a necklace."

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Kinktober 10 - Sensory Deprivation

PriceGhost

CW: Blindfolding, headphones used to cancel sound, dub-con elements, oral sex, wildly expensive alcohol (like, seriously, holy fuck)

Price doesn’t indulge in this odd relaxation ritual often, but sometimes he needs it. This week has been long enough that he might need it as much as Simon, at this point. His lieutenant is of the same opinion, apparently, because when Price strides into the den, the noise canceling headphones and sleeping mask are already on the coffee table. He grunts as he eases his aching body down onto the worn leather couch.

Simon comes stalking in, already changed into his sweat pants and a tee shirt. He places the McCallan on the coffee table with a solid thunk, then stares.

When he doesn’t say anything, Price scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not that bad.”

Simon’s left eyebrow goes up, but his face stays blank.

“Yes, yes,” Price chuckles, placing the headphones around his neck. He settles the mask in place as he add, “I’ve been a right cunt.”

“Y’re always a right cunt,” Simon grumbles.

Price snorts a laugh as he lifts the headphones to his ears. As soon as he turns them on they connect to Simon’s phone and grey noise blocks out the world.

For an indeterminate amount of time, that’s all there is. Darkness and soft static. With the absence of other input, his brain catalogues every ache and pain in his back, his legs, his arms. It takes longer than usual to settle into square breaths.

The first touch of Simon's hand makes Price flinch, hard. He imagines he can feel his lieutenant's judgmental stare before he reminds himself that the whole point is to stop imagining. He takes two deep breaths and tips his head back into the couch.

The tips of Simon's fingers touch the palm of his hand again before being replaced with cold crystal. Price adjusts his grip, then lifts the glass to take in the bouquet of the scotch. It’s one of his favorites, ginger and cinnamon and vanilla notes coaxing the tension from his shoulders. The first taste is heaven, rich and smooth, lingering ginger and apricot as he settles in.

Simon waits until he's set the glass back against his thigh before picking up his other hand. He expects a cigar, but instead, he gets the deep pressure of knuckles in his palm.

He doesn't bother muffling the groan that flows from him as Simon proceeds to massage his writing hand, wrist, forearm as he keeps sipping his whiskey. When he switches hands, he almost drops the whiskey glass, his hand is so relaxed. The world narrows down to white noise, scotch, and muscles forced to unwind.

Then, Simon does something unexpected.

Price spreads his thighs when prompted. Then he feels more than hears himself make a questioning noise when a big body pushes its way between his knees.

For a long moment they just breathe. Then Simon taps his empty palm twice with his fingers. Solid?

Price taps back. Solid.

Large hands land on his knees and smooth their way up his quads. They don't hesitate to lift his shirt out of the way and make quick work of his belt. Another beat of stillness. Price brings the scotch back up to his lips.

Simon's hands are warm as they touch his belly, petting over course hair and feeling over muscle and fat. It's a curious sensation. He's not sure Simon's ever touched him so gently, even with this odd routine they've built together.

It's a shock and it isn't when those same hands coax him to lift his hips enough to shove his pants and trousers down his thighs. And then Simon’s palming his soft cock, not touching to stimulate, but Price feels the awareness of-

He hears himself moan over the noise when Simon’s mouth closes over him, hot and wet. He barely resists the urge to grip the man’s short hair in a fist, stars dancing behind his eyelids. Instead, he tries to focus on not spilling scotch all over them both.

It’s a testament to the stress they’ve been under that Price doesn’t get hard. After a brief flash of frustration, he sighs, deep and long. After a moment, the tension seeps out of his neck, and tipping his chin toward the ceiling.

Simon taps his thigh. Solid?

Price huffs a laugh. Solid.

[gautiersylvain]

like do you see the vision can anyone hear me

[undefeatablesin]

Watch out ya'll, Sin's sketching Bloodborne comics again! 💀

[rantingaboutmusicals]

Andrew rannells is the definition of perfection,

Find me a photo where he isn't hot or slaying

Go ahead, I'll wait

[faaun]

ive talked to a lot of ppl who have taken vyvanse now and i think ik a bit more on how i need to live on it

[its-a-beautful-day]

Updating my donation post as it's been a few months. I'm still struggling with being homeless and I recently lost my health insurance (yayy turning 26!)

I've applied for section 8 at a local large city but that can take time. I'm also in the months long process of applying for SNAP/medicaid. I've also applied for financial assistance through my work to help me as well but I'm unsure of the turn around time or how much they can assist me.

Currently with the cost of rent in my local area the best option might be for me to renovate a free mobile home. However I need to move it to a lot/mobile home park with hookups and that can cost alot of money. The current estimate I got is around $8,000.

This doesn't include the lot rent per month or the cost of fixing the mobile home. But I do get to own the trailer after and can sell it once I have my feet under me again and ready to move.

I've been looking into so many different options but I'm struggling with finding something in my budget. Current income restricted housing is at a 1 to 2 year wait list. Others require a $48 per person application before you get to even see the apartment (for a one bedroom no less)

I've already made so many sacrifices during this year including not perusing fighting to get my cat back. Unfortunately with the way I can't find housing there wasn't a hope I could find housing and have it allow pets.

I've anyone has suggestions for finding roomates (that's not Facebook) or housing please feel free to message me

I'm also doing donation doodles for any donation over $10, give me a suggestion or prompt when you donate otherwise you get a bug art lol

[skunkes]