^Art of oc’s made by my friend. Pfp made by @hoetaro-kujhoe
Hi! I’m Hih (Helpimhyperfixating)! I thought I’d make this just to make it easier for everyone ^^
Requests: Open (but slow because college)
Commissions: 1/3 Slots Open (you can DM me ^^)
I’ll do pretty much anything sfw and nsfw! I especially love AU’s ;3.
Things I won’t do: age gap (sorry Price lovers 😔), hard degradation, extreme yandere (i.e. hurting darling), cheating (them on you, you on them), incest, non-con
Current fandoms:
- Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (specifically Price)
- Avatar (specifically recom!Quaritch)
- Spider-Man (I’m developing a love for Kraven)
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🧸 - fluff , 🌒 - angst , 🔞 - nsfw (mdni)
CoD oneshots:
Price:
🧸🔞 - Sfw & Nsfw headcanons | Part 2 sfw & nsfw
🧸 - Tattoo Blossom [Soulmate au] | Part 2 🌒
🧸🌒 - Nightmares - Part 1 | Part 2 -
🧸 - Price coming home from deployment drabble
🧸 - Theme Park
🧸 - Teen troubles
🌒🧸 - I’m here
🦌 - Deer hybrid! Price x wolf hybrid! Reader
NSFW:
🔞 - Truth or Dare - Part 1 | Part 2 (nsfw)
🧸🔞 - Sfw & Nsfw headcanons | Part 2 sfw & nsfw
🔞 - Neighbour
🔞🧸 - Cheating
🔞 - Relight the fire - King! Price x Princess! Reader
🔞Kinktober 2023 Masterlist [ended on day 24] 🔞 this Masterlist contains roughly 12 fics for Price! Just figured it’d be better to make a Masterlist within a Masterlist than list every single one ☺️
CoD Fics:
Price:
Mutiny - Captain! Price pirate au - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Wedded - Dragon! Price x Reader - Part 1 | Part 2
🧸🌒 Lost and Loved - Price x daughter!reader - coming
An AU I’m very excited for but too shy to share - coming
Dumb shit/drabble thoughts:
🧸 Price vs corner of the mouth kisses | 2 | 3 |
Meme post
Meme 2
Dragon Price drabble | 2
Waking up with him
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Avatar Fics:
Changes in the Forest - R!Quaritch x Na’vi!Reader:
We see a looot of bear!Price in the fandom (for good fuckin reason!), but lately I've been low-key obsessed with the idea of him (and, honestly, Simon as well!) as prey animal hybrids.
I think a lot of people arrive at bear!Price because they're big, hairy, and extremely dangerous, just like HE is!
So, keeping those kinds of themes in mind, I've got a couple prey animals that come to mind:
Water buffalo (think Chief Bogo from Zootopia) - big, hairy, and dangerous as hell!
Red Deer are easily my favorite species of deer, and they're biiiig animals.
Some sort of bull (leaning Texas Longhorn, myself!).
Then, of course, you need your reader to be ironically matched to him:
Lion with the water buffalo; wolf with red deer, cougar for Texas longhorn (or maybe wolf).
Extra brownie points if Price keeps his horns or antlers cut short as hell; a bit of visual self sacrificing.
You genius. Absolutely yes. In this case I went with red deer, given those are actually native to the UK!
(Because this bitch loves some worldbuilding logic for au’s)
Despite Price being prey however, I cannot see him taking those instincts well. Man is a captain and wants to be listened to. Won’t take nothing else but obedience.
Word count: 1047
- - - -
Moving through the base, a recognisable set of antlers shifted through the halls. Tall, branched, slightly stained yellow at the base, all while peeking out of a dirty-beige hat.
John Price, captain of Task Force 141. Notorious terrorist hunters. And hybrids.
As he walked, his hooves clopped on the linoleum floors. A sound recognisable for most around; especially when going at this pace.
It meant someone was in trouble. And in this case, it was you.
For the past hour, this fox hybrid had been trying to goad you while you trained outside. Commenting on your features, your skills, your behaviour. No matter what you said or did, he stayed. After all, he was the same rank as you, you couldn’t send him off and he knew it.
Yet when the man hopped over, his thick tail brushing against your side as he turned with a mocking grin, you snapped.
Snarling, you’d grabbed him by the scruff and slammed him down, trying to use your sounds and features to intimidate as instinct took over.
Dominance displays were nothing new, no matter how unwanted they were. Yet the way in which they were done differed greatly. There were those where one was constantly invading space and testing boundaries. And then there were those that were a sudden explosion of aggression. It wasn’t hard to figure out which would get you in trouble sooner.
And the last thing your roided up brain needed was a prey animal added into the mix.
“Break it up!” Price’s voice boomed.
Immediately, your whole body stiffened, your tail’s fur spiking as your shoulders hunched in an almost raising of your hackles. You didn’t look away from the fox. But that didn’t lessen the impact of the deer hybrid.
While prey and predator had evolved to live together over time, there was one thing even the best discipline couldn’t entirely account for; genetic coding.
And unfortunately for Price, you and him were polar opposites. Your respective hybrid species having been in a war of nutrition since the dawn of evolution.
When you didn’t move off the guy, Price scowled, walking over and grabbing your scruff. With a firm yank, he pulled you away from the fox, instead slamming you into the nearest wall.
A brief yelp left you before you focused back on the captain, your teeth baring as he pushed you firmer into the wall, his scent invading your nostrils.
“Stand. Down.” He spoke lowly, shifting closer until his chest was nearly pressed to yours, eye contact firmly held.
“He started it!” You barked, pushing away from the wall as you pointed at the fox slowly getting up from the ground.
The moment you tried however, Price gripped your vest tight and slammed you into the wall with a snort, his antlers bashing into the bricks on either side of your head a moment later.
Blinking in surprise, your eyes turned back to the captain, his forehead nearly touching yours as he glared at you from mere centimetres away.
“Down, pup.” He said slowly, clear warning in both his voice and eyes.
Taking in a deep breath, you set your jaws, feeling the hard bone of his antlers on the side of your head when you shifted. He was close. Too close.
“Fine, I’m calm.” You murmured, staring back at him, but Price didn’t move. His grip on your vest stayed, still pushing you into the wall as he shifted, his nose nearly brushing yours as he stared, unblinking.
“You say that again once you stop bracing for a leap.”
At his words, you realised he was right. The muscles in your legs were coiled tight, claws digging into the gravel underfoot in an attempt to find purchase.
Carefully controlled, you tried to loosen your stance, only for a shift of gravel to the left to sound out. “Little wolf getting scolded by a buck.” The fox spoke as he got up, a grin on his face.
That was all that was needed. Instantly, your body tensed again and you attempted to push away, only for Price to be ahead of you. He re-slammed you back into the wall and pushed his chest into yours, forehead now pressed up against your own as his antlers dug into the stone.
His pressure was constant. Long, hooved legs made for a standoff like this as he kept you pinned, never breaking eye contact.
“Breathe.”
Huffing out in frustration, you finally tore your eyes away from the smug soldier, looking at your captain.
“Unlock your muscles. Take back your mind.”
His instructions were simple at the surface. Don’t let the instincts run rampant, calm down.
Easier said than done. Especially when said by the one hybrid you could never truly be at ease around.
There was always some part of you that was on alert when Price was around. Whether that was a sudden hunger, your eyes following his every step or the urge to hunt surfacing.
It was the reason both parties had been hesitant to get you onto the 141. Your natural species’ rivalry made for some complicated emotions.
But as you stood there, stared down by the red deer hybrid, even your instincts seemed to realise this was a fight you couldn’t win. And so, your legs slackened. Fur slowly flattening back down as you let out a shaky breath.
Seeing you calm down, Price slowly pulled his head back, still keeping a keen eye, watching for any change.
When none came, he stepped back. There were indents in the wall from where his antlers had sat, the gravel stirred up from his hooves and your paws.
Once more, a little snort came from the man and you closed your eyes, sighing out.
“Report to my office in an hour.”
His words had you crack your eyes back open to see the deer hybrid turn and walk away, showing his back to you.
Yet as he walked off to collect the fox hybrid and herd him to his office, you noticed the signs.
Pinned back ears, fist balled at his side but most of all: his small tail stuck straight up and trembling.
John Price was just as affected by instincts as you were.
Especially when encountering a big bad wolf.
- - - -
Might start writing more for this au. Feel free to drop ideas in my inbox!
I love him so much I’m sorry but why does his face feel so different 😭
And not because of the beard (tho pls bring back my beloved mutton chops). Like his face seems longer somehow? Gives a little bit more Barry than the Price we know and love.
PLS I NEED MEH MAN IN 4K.
Either way this trailer made me very upsetti spaghetti, I’ll be back to write for this war criminal in like a month cause then I’ll be done with college >:3
An RDA group guided by Lieutenant Harper Mitchell, has managed to capture Veyta in order to gather informations about the escaped Sarentu and the Resistance, by Mercer's command.
They have found her at an isolated Na'vi camp, helping out with the hunt. Seeing this, they had the idea to hold the camp's people hostage in order to make Veyta speak.
But she resisted. She resisted along with the other Na'vi that knew about the Sarentu and the Resistance.
Threats, hits, and damage to their little camp still didn't make anyone say a single word about what interested the RDA, and the Lieutenant was about to lose her patience.
To the point where she really did.
Fire started spreading everywhere around the camp from her AMP pyro, and bullets started to shoot from the other RDA's members at the Lieutenant's command. They already had Veyta, and the camp and its people didn't matter that much anyway.
Veyta screamed as she watched in horror at the scene in front of her, while being held down to make her unable to help her people, to make her helpless.
Guilt was eating her from inside. So much guilt that a part came out as tears streaming down her face, and cries calling out to Eywa to do something.
Once there was nothing more left to destroy and to kill, the RDA decided to go back to their base with Veyta to try and make her eventually talk.
But Veyta stayed silent again. Not because she was intentionally being silent to not tell them anything, but because she was processing what had happened moments before, simply because she happened to be there. She snapped at them from time to time whenever they tried to make her talk, but nothing more.
Her arms were tied to her back, which annoyed her. She let that feeling build up in her chest, coming to the realisation that guilt wasn't needed in that moment, but rage. Anger, and hunger for revenge.
At that exact time, familiar faces came to rescue her, and a fight erupted in front of her eyes again.
Sumtxuyu hurried to free her arms while the others fought, and Veyta didn't waste a single second to get up and sprint away to whoever enemy was available to fight. Sum wanted to follow her, but more enemies were coming to the opposite direction, so she decided to take care of those. She knew Veyta could've handled herself well anyway.
Veyta didn't know where her bow was, so she grabbed the first gun she saw on the floor and decided to fight with that, with her anger builing up at each bullet used to kill whoever was on her way to find the Lieutenant.
The sky was the darkest she had ever seen on Pandora, and the clouds were rumbling when Veyta got out of the base. She immediately was met with a human trying to shoot her, but Veyta was faster and hid behind a wall. Her heart was pumping out of her chest, and she was trembling from how angry she felt as she tried to change the rifle's magazine. At this point, she thought that by the time she would've find Mitchell, she would've been dead from either an heart attack or an exploded vein on her head.
But that thought didn't slow down her anger at all. Matter of fact, the thought of not being able to reach Mitchell made her even angrier, along with the fact that she didn't have another full magazine on her nor anywhere around her, and along the sound of the human's sassy voice teasing her to come out from behind the wall.
Oh, how she hated when they acted all cocky.
Without any second thought, Veyta threw the rifle on the ground and sprinted towards the human, now wearing a scared expression on his face, and lounged on him.
Her Na'vi body was bigger, heavier and stronger than one of any human, that's why they wore those metal suits. Too bad this human thought of himself to be stronger and didn't came to fight with one.
She could have teared this weak sky-person apart with her own bare hands, easily. Because the sky-people are weak.
So weak, that maybe she could've even do that...
with her own teeth.
And that's what she did. She started to bite chunks of flesh off of his body, which was squirming under her weight and screaming in agony at each bite. Until it became silent.
But Veyta kept going. She kept tearing off flesh with her teeth, and breaking bones with her hands, even after the body became unrecognizable.
She only stopped when a light illuminated her and the scene, spooking her and making her look up at two other humans standing there, watching in horror at what she did.
And without thinking twice, she killed them in the same way their teammate died.
Veyta finally had felt some relief after acting the way she did, but only when she was in the moment. Because as soon as she decided she was done with a body, she had to hunt another one.
She kept roaming around, face and hands covered in blood, until she has found the target she was looking for all along.
At that moment, heavy rain started to fall, and Veyta thought that Eywa was by her side. Because she didn't think for even a second to sneak up to her.
Instead, she ran like she had never ran before. Like a predator fixed to her pray, she shoved whatever was in her way to the side, to finally lounge on the back of the Lieutenant's AMP suit and crawl to the front.
She broke the thick glass with her fist to grab the woman inside, throwing her on the wet ground and following right after, not wasting a second more before going straight to her neck with her teeth.
She gave her the same treatment as the other three humans of before, if not a worse one.
After she decided she was done with the Lieutenant's body, she started to feel tired, and that's what made her snap out of her feral trance.
Veyta looked at the damaged body in front of her, then at ther own bloody hands. Her breath started to quicken and her body trembled again. She then realised she still had a chunk of flesh and meat in her mouth, which she immediately spit on the ground. She still could have felt the metallic overwhelming taste of blood in her mouth, but no matter how much she tried to spit out, it wouldn't go away. She clumsly tried to clean the blood off of her face, but her bloody hands only made it worse, to which not even the rain somehow managed to wash away completely.
So Veyta simply stood there, staring at nothing while her body kept trembling, feeling helpless again.
She realised she become what Mercer always told her. A feral, untamable, crazy animal, because she let her emotions get the best of her.
Shame bloomed in her stomach, and she just wanted to hide, but she couldn't manage to move her body.
So Veyta simply waited for that feeling of shame to go away, but that moment never came.
It only became much greater when her friends found her, kneeling in front of one of the sky-people that she has bitten to death.
...
The RDA had a thing for giving nicknames to Na'vi that caught their attention.
"Dog Tag Warrior" for So'lek,
"Death on Wings" for Sumtxuyu,
and now, "Meat Hunter" for Veyta.
Veyta couldn't bear that nickname. She hated it with all of her heart, and she hated even more that some people have pointed out that her name itself somewhat resembles that nickname.
"Vey" for meat, and "ta" for taronyu, which means hunter.
But for how much she hated this, she couldn't help herself but to commit the same action again, and again, and again, feeling a greater shame each single time.
Get an ask in my inbox -> read it -> "oh, that's nice; I need to think of a good response" -> "this deservea more attention than I can give it rn; I'll take another look at it later" -> close inbox until later -> "later" never really comes -> forget -> repeat
thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3
Changes in the forest - R!Quaritch x Na’vi! Reader | Part 5
Previous | Next
Word Count: 1864
Following Spider, you were walking through the human base, a shiver washing over you as you did. “Great mother why is it so cold here.” You muttered, wanting to grimace at the cold metal touching the soles of your feet.
“What was that?” Quaritch asked, his hand on your shoulder from behind as he escorted you – to ease the scientists, he said.
“I said it is cold.” You repeated in English, looking back at the man who raised an eyebrow.
“Not everyone likes the ass-sweating heat of Pandora, darling. Least of all people in uniform.”
At his words, you scrunched your face up in confusion, not getting several of those words and Quaritch rolled his eyes.
“Humans have clothes to wear. So it’s a little colder inside so that they can.” He explained, practically just guessing that was the reason for it instead of actually knowing. “Out there it’s hot, so it feels nice to come into base and it be a little bit cooler.”
Just nodding, you tried to wrap your head around his words and looked forward, taking in Spider who seemed unbothered, making you feel alone in your discomfort.
“It’s warmer in the recom quarters.” Quaritch spoke after a second, taking a drag from his mask and you glanced back at him. “They filter Pandoran air into the rooms there so the temperature is comparable to outside.”
Humming a bit in understanding, you just continued walking on in silence, escorted by the two, front and back.
Before long, you stopped before a room with heavily fortified doors.
“Kid, get *your* mask on.” Quaritch ordered from behind you, pointing to a mask hanging from the wall.
Spider – who was just about to grab a different one – grumbled and released the mask he was holding, instead walking over to the one Quaritch pointed at.
Once he was sure the boy had put it on right, Quaritch opened the heavy door, ushering you both in before stepping in himself and closing it behind him. There was a heavy clunk as it locked when the man pressed a red button, a hiss sounding out moments later and almost instantly, more familiar air filled your lungs.
The thin and sharp feel of earth air was raw on your throat so to finally get to breathe your own air without having to rely on a mask was amazing.
“Alright, we’re good.” Quaritch spoke behind you and almost immediately, Spider opened the door he was by, grunting a bit as he pushed the heavy, metal slab open.
Looking inside, you were greeted by an open room, seats, couches and tables strewn about while several large blue bodies lounged around on them.
“There he is! Had some fun?” You watched as a bald avatar stepped up, a wide grin on his face before he got something thrown right into his face that bounced with a loud ‘thunk’.
“Shut your trap, Lyle.” Quaritch huffed, having just chucked an empty cup that happened to be in reach at the lieutenant.
“Sorry, sir.” The man chuckled before focusing on you. Yet while a smile still played at the corner of his lips as he sized you up, he wasn’t the only one looking.
“Why is that here, colonel?”
You turned to regard five other people in the room, your ears angling back a bit at the hostility from which the man in the middle spoke.
“C’mon, Lopez.” The one to your right – Lyle – spoke as he walked over, a placating smile on his face as he slapped the man on his shoulder. “You were at the brief, show some respect.”
Lopez’ eyes narrowed at his lieutenant before he sighed and nodded, looking away.
Not all agreed however as the one female in the room stepped right up into your face, intimidating and angry. “You killed Rowan.”
“To protect my own. You stepped onto a planet you don’t belong, loss is expected.” Your response was instant, no hesitation as you looked back at her with a dead stare, your ears pointed back same as hers as she bared her fangs and hissed, your own teeth baring as you growled back.
“It’s… …cat fight.” You picked out a few words as someone from the back mumbled, yet you weren’t the only one who heard as the recom in your face snapped around.
“Ja, I swear to god!” She called out, walking over while the recom wearing a cap squeaked and jumped over the couch.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“And I won’t beat your ass. See? They’re both lies!”
Confused, you watched as the woman stomped after the fleeing soldier with threatening steps, the two of them disappearing into the hallway to the right.
“Those were Z-dog and Ja.” Quaritch huffed, looking unamused at the now empty hallway. After a second, he snapped out of it before leaning around you and releasing your cuffs, motioning to the three other recoms in the room. “Those are Lopez, Prager and Mansk. Why don’t you all get acquainted?” With that, the colonel patted your shoulder before following after the two marines into the hallway, grumbling something inaudible.
Swallowing softly, you glanced between the men, unsure what to do before Lyle stepped forward, placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to the couches. “C’mon, let’s chat!”
Awkwardly and a little hesitant, the other three joined in, sitting opposite you while Lyle took his seat beside you, Spider jumping up onto the couch and squeezing himself between you and the lieutenant without a care, making Lyle huff as he scooted to the side.
And so, slowly but surely – not unlike pulling teeth – Lyle managed to get a conversation going between the recoms and you.
Mostly about the incident in the forest and your tussle with the colonel – who was sporting a hefty bruise on his cheek still from your bow.
All in all, things could get worse.
-
Standing by the large window spanning the entire living room, you were looking out over the RDA base.
Darkness had fallen several hours ago, all the recoms calling it a night a while back while you stayed up, having walked out of the room Spider had shown you was yours, to instead return here.
Lights were on all around, illuminating the grey city that humanity had built on the planet. No bioluminescence or greenery in sight. Eywa’s light was being blocked out by their own hubris.
“There you are.”
Hearing the familiar voice, you could see Quaritch walking up behind you in the reflection of the glass, your own image staring back at you.
“Snuck out, did you?” The colonel joked, looking at you in the reflection as well, given you didn’t make a move to turn around – approaching you on your own terms.
“I did not sneak.” You murmured and Quaritch let out a tired chuckle.
“It was a joke. Cupcake?”
Confused, you turned your head to see him with his eyebrows raised, nudging his arm towards you. Trailing your eyes down, you saw a dark and sweet-smelling thing in his hand.
“It’s a treat. Won’t kill you, you know.” Quaritch chuckled as he saw your nose scrunch. “We’re leaving base somewhere in the next 36 hours, so I’d say enjoy it while you can. After this, we’ll go to whatever godforsaken food your precious Pandora has for us. Live a little.” He pushed the cupcake into your hand, curling your fingers around it.
Huffing, you pulled your hands away from his, also because his touch felt almost burning in that moment.
His own eyes a little wide, Quaritch curled his fingers into a fist, clearing his throat. “Damn. Don’t be so feisty.”
Sending him a confused glance from his words, you then looked at the treat now in your hands.
Seeing as you didn’t seem to move beyond that, Quaritch just sighed. “Enjoy it. See you in the morning, cupcake.”
-
Woken up to voices and hissing, Quaritch groggily shot up, grabbing a shirt and yanking it on as he stumbled up to his feet.
At least the damn tail seemed to help with keeping balance. A pleasant surprise for sure.
Leaving his room, the door hissed air as it opened and the recombinant stepped into the hallway, seeing Spider trying to calm you and reason with a scientist standing before you at the same time.
“I have permission from general Ardmore.” The man said, tapping his digital pad.
“What’s going on here?” Quaritch asked, his eyes narrowing.
Seeing the commander of the unit appear, the scientist shrunk a little. “I have orders to take the native out for tests and take DNA samples.” He spoke as firmly as he could and Quaritch glanced at you, seeing your ears pinned back as you glared at the human, Spider in front of you, holding onto your wrist.
“This one is mine. We need ‘er.” He spoke simply while crossing his arms, seeing you narrow your eyes at him.
“I don’t think you understand the importance of having a live subject to compare your own bodies to, colonel.”
At that, the man felt his tail flick in annoyance.
“Far as I’m aware, our bodies work fine.”
“With all due respect, you’re old, sir.”
At that, Quaritch straightened as Lyle – who had been looking at the scene from around the corner in his own room – stepped out, offended. “We’re what?”
“The recombinant program was founded a while ago. We hadn’t found need to use it until recently with you all, but the DNA that was sent back to earth together with your human ones happened… well I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s near the beginning of the avatar project.”
Hearing it, Spider glanced back as well and Quaritch did all he could to remain collected, somehow trying to will his tail to stop whipping.
“The technology wasn’t there yet, I suppose. But what’s that got to do with her?” The colonel asked, pointing his thumb at you while glaring down at the man in white. “You know what the Na’vi look like. You don’t need her to compare stripes.”
At that, Lyle stepped out. “You don’t have the clearance to be in here. If you need something, you can ask for a meeting or scheduled visit, like all the rest.”
Turning your head around, the two men stood tall behind you, glaring down at the scientist. As if overnight, they had gone from hostile enemies, to defending you, making your head reel.
Annoyed, the scientist took a step back.
“I have orders to bring her along.”
“And we have orders from Ardmore to use her for integration and tracking. Ours has priority over your little scientific snibble project.” Quaritch spoke coolly, leaning down to the man’s height. “Sod off, come back with an actual order of relieve. Until then, the native is under our jurisdiction.”
Angry yet outnumbered, the man huffed into his mask, stepping back. “Fine, I’ll be back.” With that, he turned tail and marched out, yet Quaritch humorously noted the tight walk.
Once the air seal door shut, the recom turned to his lieutenant.
“Get everyone ready, we’re leaving early. Move out is in three hours.”
Series synopsis: With your father unjustly imprisoned, you are forced to find a way to make bail, and fast. Disguising yourself as a ship’s steward seemed like the perfect plan until the captain begins to get suspicious.
Back to series masterlist
Chapter word count: 4k
Chapter tags & warnings: flogging, descriptions of wounds and wound care
Note: This chapter was a doozy to research and write. You’ll find historical notes for the chapter at the end. Thanks to my beta readers @paleokarst & @tyga-lily!
The knot of anxiety in your chest tightened all night as you tossed and turned in your wooden bed, wracking your brain for ways out of this bind.
Running away isn’t exactly an option, but there’s also no way to prove someone else stole the raisins. The captain had already been reluctant to reduce your sentence from ten lashes down to five, there’s no way he would reduce it even further. If you reveal your identity, he would be obligated to countermand your punishment, but you have no idea what might happen after, trapped on a ship full of men who haven’t (and won’t) see a woman for months. And then there’s the distinct possibility that Mr. Willis would revoke your wages if he finds out about your scheme…
No, no. There’s nothing for it but to bare your back and take the lashes.
But how on Earth would you do it without revealing you’re a woman?
The next morning passes by in a fog of overturned glasses and slapdash cleaning. Half your head’s simmering with resentment toward Captain Price, and the other half’s puzzling out a solution.
With minutes to go, a tentative plan forms and you rush to your cabin to prepare. Will it work? It’s impossible to know, but it’s the only plan you have.
All too quickly, the bell is rung for forenoon watch.
You hurriedly stuff your chest bindings into the bottom of your trunk and re-dress yourself. Dozens of footsteps pound outside. The officers stand alert at the railing of the quarterdeck, having gathered what looks to be most of the crew. Rudy catches your eye, head tipping in a supportive nod. At least the men seem to be in better spirits now that the wind has picked back up, though you’re sure some are simply excited by the coming spectacle.
The captain gestures roughly to the mainmast when he spots you.
“Shirt off, arms spread.”
You stumble toward where a grating has been rigged upright against the mast. Nearby, Soap stands at a barrel, methodically untangling something with his back to you.
What’s laid out before him turns your feet to lead. Branching out from a well-worn handle are nine thin, braided hemp cords, each ending in a tight knot. Not a switch, not a birch rod, nor even a whip, but a cat-o’-nine-tails. Something you’ve only ever read about in the papers. Something designed for maximal damage.
“Today Harris,” Ghost barks impatiently. You hear a few snickers from the crew that are quickly silenced.
To save your father, you have to do this.
You will do this.
You turn your back to the crowd, unbuttoning your shirt with trembling fingers and dropping it in a heap.
A gust wafts up, giving you the perfect excuse to cling to the wool scarf wound around your neck, ends draped carefully over your breasts to shield them from view—your father’s, nicked from his closet before sneaking aboard. It’s either ironic or entirely fitting that you’d brought it for good luck. You’ll need all of it now.
Miraculously, there seems to be no objections to the scarf, and you move quickly before anyone changes their mind, leaning forward against the grate as instructed.
Soap ties your hands up and away from your body when you settle. He proffers a length of clean rope, pressing it firmly into your mouth.
“Here, lad. So ye donnae bite yer tongue clean off.”
“Jack Harris,” the captain’s hoarse order booms out, “for stealing rations from the ship’s stores: five lashes.”
Waves slap rhythmically against the sides of the ship, and barely audible above that, you hear a creak as Soap squeezes the handle of the cat, the air whistling as he swings it over his head-
You squeeze your eyes shut and bite down hard-
CRACK
So swift it doesn’t feel real. It’s the second strike that shocks a scream out of you, the knot-ends ripping into freshly-torn flesh. The third follows quickly after.
There’s a torturous break as—you later learn—Soap runs his fingers through the tails, cleaning them of blood. You hang limply, twisting in agony as the sea breeze sears like wildfire across your back.
The cat cracks twice more. By the time it’s over, you’re in a daze. As you’re untied and hauled off to the surgery, the only thought running through your mind is the scarf—keep it on, keep your arms crossed, keep still, keep covered.
Somehow, you make it.
You drag yourself on to the wooden bed. Even your mincing movements pull painfully at what you’re sure is a mass of blood and weals.
The ship’s surgeon is already prepared by the time you lay down on your stomach. He taps the forgotten rope end still clenched between your teeth.
“Bite down, hermano. This will hurt.”
He lifts a bucket off the floor and pours its contents on your back.
You scream like the devil.
If the lashings were painful, this is excruciating. The sea water flows over the open welts and gashes, burning a path down to the floor. You barely register what he does next, head swimming and throat raw. By the time the poultices are applied, you’re practically numb. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he wrests the rope from your mouth and gently wipes your face with a clean cloth.
“It’s done. You can relax now.”
“Thank you, sir,” you rasp.
“Please, call me Alejandro. You need rest. I will be back to change the dressings later.”
As he turns to leave, Soap emerges from your periphery, the familiar cheer absent from his expression.
“Tried to go easy on ye, lad.”
You give him a weak smile. “I know, sir.”
It’s impossible to tell how much time passes once they depart. You find that as long as you keep your inhales shallow, the skin doesn’t stretch enough to pull at the wounds. So, you focus on that. Anything to take your mind off the persistent pain and your bubbling resentment.
The creak of the door wakes you from a light doze. Rudy enters, setting down a steaming bowl brimming with burgoo topped with a hefty drizzle of molasses and a fistful of raisins—a great deal richer than what you’re typically served, and conspicuously more than the half rations you’re supposed to be on. The smell alone is enough to make your stomach gurgle.
God bless him. It was probably a stupid idea to skip breakfast, but you couldn’t have kept anything down in your anxious state this morning. Tears spring to your eyes when the earthy sweetness hits your tongue.
“Good, you’re awake.”
The next spoon of burgoo freezes halfway to your mouth when Alejandro sweeps back in.
You steal a panicked glance at Rudy, who appears entirely unconcerned with the blatant violation of the captain’s orders. Alejandro doesn’t seem to care either, instead directing his attention to your wounds.
“The bleeding has slowed. Good. I will need to apply more medicine. Should I do it now, or after you finish?”
“Now, I suppose?”
“Brave man,” Alejandro remarks, sending Rudy off for some hot water to wash his hands.
Not that you’ve had much experience, but Alejandro is very different from the doctors—well, doctor—you’d met back home. Your family could certainly never afford one, but you remember Alexander falling ill once when you were young. It had been so severe that Lady Laswell called upon some renowned doctor—physician to the 4th Marquess Townshend or someone equally lofty. He was an older man, portly and severe. Certainly not so genial as Alejandro, nor had he washed his hands quite so frequently. (Alex did eventually recover, though you’re not convinced the bloodletting helped all that much.)
“You’re in good hands, amigo,” Rudy assures, setting out a clean bowl to prepare the poultice in. “Ale’s medicines are like magic. The cat always leaves scars, but you’ll barely see them when he’s done.”
He whisks out again, returning with clean cloths and more hot water before tidying the jars of compounds Alejandro opened. They work in tandem with an ease that suggests a deep familiarity.
“Have you two known each other a long time?”
Alejandro flashes a boyish grin. “Our whole lives! Grew up together in México.”
“Mexico?” That’s a surprise. You hear about Argentina sometimes in the papers, but never Mexico. “How did you get here?”
They exchange a look before Rudy answers. “We served together in the Mexican navy, but after the war- well, let’s say there isn’t much of a navy left anymore. We found work on a ship headed to France, made our way to London, met the captain, and here we are.”
You ruminate while Alejandro cleans and re-poultices your back. (He’s careful, but you still spasm with pain whenever he presses down a little too firmly.) They must have met the captain a long time ago if Rudy felt comfortable enough to stand up to him—and Captain Price even listened!
That kind of rapport with the captain and first mate might as well be a fantasy. There’s no chance they’ll trust a suspected thief. You’ve no doubt you’ll be relieved of your duties as soon as the ship reaches port. There’s nothing for it except to finish out your job and at least get paid.
When your gashes finally begin to scab over, Alejandro allows you to move out of the surgery and back to your cabin. He comes by once a day to refresh your poultices, and Rudy continues to bring you food, though he is more careful to conceal the serving size from the captain and crew.
Rudy and Alejandro love to reminisce about their wild days in Veracruz, and their visits are bright spots in the otherwise dull days confined to quarters. Soap and Gaz have also taken to barging in at all hours to talk your ear off, though some of the naval exploits they regale you with sound too far-fetched to be true.
“Don’ let his pretty mug fool ye. Gaz ‘s a wee killer. Cleared half a ship while dangling by a rope off the topmast!”
That already seemed unbelievable, but then Gaz countered with the time that Soap sank a first-rate gunship with “just his dumb luck” (“Dinnae talk pish, it was me sharp wit!” Soap had retorted). The story didn’t sound far from either, Soap setting an entire steamship ablaze by slipping into the engine room and tampering with the pressure valves. It’s incredible he even survived.
You learn Ghost got his nickname after escaping a heavily-guarded prison in the hinterlands of Russia. He endured weeks of bitter winter blizzards, somehow making it back to London while eluding his captors the whole way. And that wasn’t even the first time he’d broken out of prison. Soap was practically crackling with enthusiasm as he described each of Ghost’s makeshift weapons in extensive detail.
“And Cap’s a bloody legend,” Gaz crows, “I hardly believe the stories about him, and I was there! Got shot clean through the stomach and still outmaneuvered the lot of ‘em at Sebastopol. Bet The Right Honourable Nelson himself couldn’t even kill the old man.”
You sour at that.
Captain Price might be a peerless seaman, but he’s certainly not as fair and just a man as the others led you to believe. Scrubbing the decks, taking watches, half rations—those are reasonable punishments. Five lashes is beyond the pale, and that’s half of what he originally ordered. Even if you had stolen some raisins—men who beat their wives have received far lesser punishment.
Still, despite their near-worship of the captain, you enjoy their company immensely. The rest of your recovery time is spent reading and writing letters to your family and Alexander (omitting the part where you were punished, of course, so as not to cause them undue worry).
You’re brimming with pent up energy by the time Alejandro finally clears you for light work.
Despite upending your sleep, you find that the addition of dawn watch isn’t nearly as miserable as you had feared. Most of the crew are asleep in their bunks, as are the apprentices, tradesmen, Gaz, and the captain—the latter awoken only in emergencies. Not everyone is resting, of course. A skeleton crew keeps the ship sailing briskly through the night with Ghost and Soap to oversee them.
The upside is the relative peace and quiet. It’s perhaps the first time you’ve really delighted in being at sea. It’s a ridiculous notion after weeks afloat, but you’ve been singleminded in your duties without concern for anything outside the confines of the ship, and you’re pleased to discover that it’s not just some vast, empty horizon out there. You breeze by islands and ports and other ships in the distance that Soap is only too happy to identify for you. (He was eager to alert you when the Cutty crossed the meridian of Greenwich, and was—along with everyone else on board—positively ecstatic when you finally victualled off of Cape Colony. You were also able to drop off letters for your family and Alex to be ferried home on one of the Royal Mail ships.)
Under Alejandro’s care, your back heals quickly with no infections and, he assures you, you’ll only have light scarring. At least the bandages are no more uncomfortable than your chest bindings were. You’re cleared for more physical labor after another few days, meaning you have to make good on the final term of your punishment—scrubbing the decks.
It’s back-breaking work, more than you realized. Every day in the morning and evening, a group of the ordinary seamen wash the teakwood decks with seawater, scrub them with sand, then dry them. Every surface of the deck is cleaned, from the ladders to the bronze moldings. Given your other duties, you only join in the evenings, after serving dinner to the officers and apprentices. The scrubbing isn’t just for show, either. Alejandro informed you that it helped keep the space hygienic and prevent disease. It also keeps the decks safe, since teakwood is extremely slippery when wet (although the captain, you begrudgingly note, excels at maintaining the stability of the ship in any weather).
Though Soap and Gaz were assigned to monitor you, they’re rarely around. Instead, it’s the captain and Ghost who seem to shadow your every move. Nevertheless, you’re determined to persevere under their scrutiny and find silver linings where you can.
One such silver lining is the chance to befriend your fellow sailors. The Cutty runs on a lean crew of only 27 men, so you already know everyone on board, but as a steward, most of your time is spent serving the officers. There have been scant opportunities to get to know your fellow sailors. Further, polite society dictated that you never had the opportunity to truly associate freely outside of your family as a young woman. The Laswells were a welcome exception, perhaps because they were American and thus less observant of such rigid conventions.
Disguised as a young man aboard the Cutty, you’re free for the first time to consort with people from all walks of life and all corners of the world. (You truthfully did not know there even were so many corners of the world.)
Most of the officers and apprentices are Scottish or English. The crew come from all over. Many among them are from England and Scotland (like William Hoscut—the kindly topman who gave you his Bicolotyne). The carpenter is an American by the name of Winston. He’s also the first black man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Lars is from Sweden. There’s another man from Wales and one from Ireland, two from China, two from India, one from Prussia, one from Persia, and one from Russia.
It’s all a bit overwhelming. During meals and leisure time, there is often a heady array of languages spoken among the crew, but everyone understands their duties, and when it’s time to work, they’re all in perfect sync.
With some ingenuity, you manage to worm your way into the good graces of some of the crew. None seem particularly bothered by your supposed thievery (“it’s practically a rite of passage,” Rudy claims). Really, all it took was the occasional offer to clean or mend their clothes. With no women aboard, they’ve all learned to do it themselves to varying degrees of success, but even your clumsy stitching is leagues neater than any of theirs. You never ask for payment, hoping it will build enough goodwill that you’ll at least have some allies should Thomas and his cronies decide to pull another nasty ploy.
It’s difficult, though, to insert yourself into the perceptible bond among the men. They laugh and joke together like old friends, but the loyalty to one other—and to the officers—runs even deeper than that.
You begin to understand why when Rudy recounts the opulent feasts he’s cooked on board the ships he used to work on: lavish spreads of roast meats and endless wine every night for the officers and apprentices, all while the crew starve on half rations of salt pork and bug-infested ship’s biscuits. It’s hard to believe, but Rudy attests that it’s the norm on every ship he’s ever been on or heard about, except one.
On the Cutty, with few exceptions, the officers all eat what the crew eat and drink what they drink. No special foods or spices for officers only. Sure, the captain has his cigars, and there are higher quality teas and a few bottles of fine liquor in the officer’s pantry, but every sailor is entitled to bring items for his personal use, and many of the crew have their own private stashes as well.
“You know, the crew of the Cutty is very special. Many of us have worked with Captain Price for years, moving from ship to ship. Ale and I have been with him for four years, Gaz and Soap for longer. Ghost has been with him the longest—close to eight years.”
“The captain seems a great sailor.” It’s a safe response, one that doesn’t reveal your resentment toward the man.
“A huevo. The captain can handle the Cutty in every kind of wind and sea that weather can breed. But it’s more than that, amigo. It’s a rare kind of captain that cares more about his crew than his rank.”
You hum, half-listening, focused on mending a small hole in Captain Price’s breeches—scorched by some cigar ash, it looks like. “You must really like him.” The fact that you don’t goes unsaid, though Rudy surely notices your careful wording because he continues:
“The officers have been together since Crimea, you know. Served on the HMS Retribution together, Black Sea fleet. They were ordered not to allow any ships to pass.”
“Oh?”
You put down your mending, curious to hear more.
“The captain was just a lieutenant then. He was outnumbered, but somehow outmaneuvered the Russians. The Russians had to scuttle their warships, but still lost many in the siege—three- and four-decker gunships, 60-gun frigates, smaller ones too. There were a lot of casualties, but the Royal Navy eventually took Sebastopol. The rest is history.”
“Right, history.” You don’t bother hiding your disdain. Everyone had been horrified by what happened in Crimea. You vividly recall the photographs of destroyed cities and wounded men, the first you’d ever seen in the papers. The men who were sacrificed, the devastating losses, the tactical failures and mismanagement of the officers—all of that is part of history too.
It fits your newfound understanding of him—ruthless. Captain Price might not have pulled the trigger, but he has blood on his hands. All the officers do. No wonder he didn’t even bat an eye when he ordered you to be whipped.
You say as much to Rudy and he just huffs. “This is your first time aboard, so you’ve got no idea what other ships are like. You’re whipped for everything. That’s the way of the sea, amigo. I’ve seen sailors get twenty lashes just for looking at an officer wrong.”
The rest doesn’t need to be said: ten lashes was lenient, five practically charitable.
“You know,” he continues, “the captain couldn’t tolerate what happened in Crimea either. That’s why he left the navy and a hefty promotion behind for merchant shipping. He may not look it, but he’s got a soft heart.” Rudy stands up to leave, lobbing one last suggestion at you before he goes. “Since you seem to know about what happened in Crimea, you should talk to him about ‘Charge of the Light Brigade.’ I think you’ll find his reaction surprising.”
You’re not sure why he keeps insisting on the captain’s integrity, but maybe their hero worship of him is just another thing you’ll never understand about the crew.
The Cutty Sark passes Christmas Island in early May. It’s the first land mass you’ve seen in ages.
She overhauled the Wylo and the Doune Castle on the way—both of which left London before you—so she must be making excellent time. The men are elated. It means you’re in the last leg of your journey, only a month or so out from Shanghai.
It also means that you’ve finally sailed into warmer climes. Not just warmer, but hot.
Most of the crew have taken to working shirtless, sweating it out under the blazing sun. Despite acclimating to being on a ship full of men, it’s still shocking to be confronted with their naked torsos every day, sunbaked to an array of mottled reds and umbers.
As if to attest to Rudy’s point, all the men bear scars on their backs. Jagged, raised ones from poorly-treated lashes. You wonder if yours will look like that too, despite Alejandro’s care. You hate to admit it, but you might have to concede that Rudy was right—maybe the captain’s punishment wasn’t as harsh as you thought. Though that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Or him.
They’re all well-muscled—it comes with the job, but Gaz and Soap are something else. The rest of Gaz is apparently as pretty as his face. Lean and toned, his skin is dark and smooth with well-healed scars. He’s easily the most dashing man on board. Soap is striking in an entirely different way. He’s built stockier than Gaz, with large, bulging muscles and a smattering of dark hair across his chest and arms.
You’ve understandably resisted the pressure to go shirtless and been the target of some merciless teasing because of it. There’s the excuse of your wounds still, though that won’t work forever.
You can’t begin to speculate about Ghost, or Captain Price, or Rudy and Alejandro, for that matter. All of them have chosen to remain fully clothed for reasons you can’t fathom. Honestly, on a blistering day like today, you wish you could take it all off. Even a smidgen of relief from the unbearable humidity would be worth it.
But, they must keep it on for propriety’s sake, you suppose. Maybe the captain just likes the air of authority it gives him, or-
Your whole body tenses when he emerges on deck.
Shirtless.
He’s covered in a thick pelt of hair, patchy in spots along his arms and back from scarring (you assume). The hair on his chest is dark brown, and it grays as it trails down to his stomach, past a large puckered scar, growing white where it…
Your face grows hot and you tear your eyes away, mentally scolding yourself.
He might be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, but that changes nothing. He still had you whipped. He’s still got blood on his hands. He’s still the captain.
And most importantly, you’re most likely still going to get kicked to the curb as soon as you land in Shanghai. What you have to do now is keep your head down and keep your eyes on the prize—do your job, get paid, free your father.
You repeat it like a mantra.
Historical notes:
I wrestled a long time over how to have Reader hide their identity during the flogging (not flogging her was never an option lol). The concealment method that Reader uses is only lightly altered from the real experience of Hannah Snell, a woman in the 1700s who disguised herself as a man to join the British navy. Hannah’s biography is based on her own narrative of events, though it is highly embellished by the writer. (Hannah Snell could not write, and therefore dictated her life stories to someone who clearly…felt that sensationalism and a strong moral tone would make for better sales. Read the biography if you’re curious about her—it’s very short!—but just know that the writing is challenging lol)
A ship’s surgeon wasn’t typically a physician (i.e., they didn’t necessarily go to medical school), but often learned their trade as apprentices, which meant they were well-versed in certain types of medicine (for instance, treating scurvy and syphilis) and not necessarily others (for instance, germ theory, which was brand new at this time anyway). I picture Alejandro as a physician though, the kind that would certainly be much too qualified to work aboard a ship, but he and Rudy like the captain, and anyway any medical certification he received in Mexico would likely not have been officially recognized in England.
Some quick definitions: Forenoon Watch is typically from around 8am-noon. Burgoo is basically oatmeal. A ship’s surgery is a general exam room, not exclusively for performing surgery in the modern sense (although that did also happen sometimes).
Never in my life did I ever think I would ever write a single sentence about the Crimean War, but here we fucking are. Photographs of the Crimean War are the earliest examples of war photography, and certainly the earliest that were printed in newspapers, so they were a sensation. Did I have a lot of fun trying to transpose some of the boys’ MW missions back in time? Yes. Did I spend way too much time building sort-of historically-accurate backstories for everyone in my head? Also yes.
“Charge of the Light Brigade” is a Tennyson poem that highlights the heavy casualties suffered by British forces during the Crimean War.
It is unholy how much I love this fic and story. I’ve been in a reading (and writing) slump for a really long time and seeing this fic piqued my interest, but when I started reading I genuinely couldn’t put it down.
You got me out of my reading slump and I cannot understate how amazing that is
Thank you so so much for writing this. It’s so fun and interesting to read and you put so much care in it Ashsvshsvshs
I’ll shut up now but point is, Thank you and I cannot wait for more 😩😩
I will say, I think its hilarious that an unexpectedly large portion of Dispatch players are choosing to make Blazer and Robert kiss SOLELY for the fact that if they do, episodes later Phenomaman will kiss Robert. All of you deliberately making Robert the 'other woman' just for 2 seconds of glory. Yaoi for the win 😔🖐🙏
