cw: mention of mexican mafia and cartels. violence. military inaccuracies. a hostage situation. reader is unprofessional and insubordinate (nothing new). price plays favorites. brief mention of a boner (one sentence), nothing explicit nor serious.
primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.
cw: 4.3k
for @outfor-v because your support has been insane and it means a lot to me. thank you 💙
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It’s been a couple of days since everybody’s been back, and only a few weeks since Simon saw you for the last time at your house. He’s surprised how much better you look; full cheeks, a healthy glow on them, and your eyes alert. With you on his right, Johnny on his left, he feels like he could take over the world.
He will start with the mission, though. It takes a few days for Kate to get to base, and as soon as they all gather to greet her, her serious face makes everyone sit down. He’s known her for a long time, and Simon’s sure she will outlive every single person in this room, including Price himself. She never takes unnecessary risks but, when she does, Kate always makes it. It doesn’t matter if the team has to rescue her at some point, it’s as if it was part of her plan all along.
Inside of Price’s office, as Kate shuts the blinds, Garrick and Price mutter to each other, legs pressed together. Bickering, as always. To this day, Simon wonders why they even broke up, if they’re very obviously gone for each other still. “Kyle, John, be quiet. I need to give you all the information because there will be no paperwork on this, and that means no info gets written down. Pay attention.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” Garrick calls, his posture becoming mockingly impossibly straight. Simon sighs internally. Garrick and Price are a pain in his ass, but adding Kate… well. He’s sure she has them eating from the palm of her hand.
“Don’t you ma’am me.”
“Very well, Laswell. This is unlike you, coming to us like this for a secretive mission. What is it?” Price interrupts their little banter, eyes focused on her. “What happened?”
The atmosphere in the room changes as she starts talking. Years ago, they had to deal with Hassan, and the mexican narcos. It had been bad, corrupt and tiring, so Kate doesn’t dwell much on the past, but the way she meets Price’s eyes, Simon knows she remembers very well the day she was taken. Despite being taken hostage that day, Price told them she killed one of them herself, and snapped at him for apologizing. A fierce lady.
Price’s fingers curl on his knee but he nods at her, asking Kate to continue.
“Alejandro is asking for your help. The new cartel is taking control over the immigrants who cross the border, killing those who won’t go with them, and it’s stirring up problems for the Mexican Army, and the Special Forces.” Kate stops for a moment, briefly meeting Price’s eyes again. “Because of the cartels crossfire, innocent citizens are dying. I don’t have much information on them, but Alejandro has people inside and has found information that links the leader to a few politicians, and Valeria’s old cartel as well.”
“Are you asking us to meddle in mexican politics?” Johnny questions, straightening up on the chair, his face twisting. Simon isn’t sure he’s liking this any better. “If anything goes wrong, videos of our severed heads will be rolling online, and not just from the narcos’ phones.”
“You never sent me your email, by the way.” Simon mumbles, a grin spreading under his mask when Johnny nudges his shoulder.
“No, no politics. Alejandro is requesting our help to capture the leader of the cartel, and nothing else, just like what happened with Valeria back in the day. Whatever happens after that, it’s not our business.” Kate shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No paperwork, no assistance. Just your weapons and Alejandro’s team.”
It is true that it’s not the first time this team has done things under the radar, and it probably won’t be the last either. Just like Farah, Alejandro has been there for them over the years, so not only Simon knows they would do this for them and more, but also the rest of the team, bickering forgotten as Kate explains the situation.
Capture the leader alive, assist Los Vaqueros and get the hell out of there. It’s not gonna take long, if everything goes according to plan. And so, it’s Johnny who stands up first, nodding. “What are we waiting for? Let’s catch the fucker.”
“This could be messy,” Price hums, rubbing his thumb over his chin. “Not legal at all. We have no jurisdiction, and we won’t have any protection.”
“It’s what you do, John,” Kate huffs. “What’s another war crime? These are our friends. We can’t give them an army, but a couple hands is all they’re asking for.”
“Ready when you are, Kate,” you declare, your hands steady over the table. Simon’s chest puffs a little bit with pride at the determination in your voice. It’s comforting, knowing you aren’t hesitating even though you don’t know the full situation with Alejandro and the mission back in México. He’s a friend, and that’s enough.
It’s not that they didn’t want to tell you, it was just so long ago that they couldn’t be arsed to mention it in full detail anymore. Alejandro has been in contact from time to time so you do know him well —hell, Johnny had been pissed about it for a few weeks—, but the rest of it will have to wait for now.
“What’s the name of the cartel?” Price questions, moving to light up a cigar. Simon can tell his mind is starting to spin, to plan. “Who are we dealing with?”
“Las Sombras.”
Despite being forced to wait a full week while Kate gets everything in order for them to finally travel to México and aid Alejandro, they aren’t lazy at all. With the info of a group of innocent people being held hostages by terrorists a few states away, they all move quickly.
Simon’s ears are as sharp as his eyes are, and he doesn’t miss the tension in Price’s tone when he orders you to stay back, and provide help from base. To nobody’s surprise, your eyebrows shoot up, your lips curling in anger but you still nod, taking his orders without much obvious reluctance. You turn your back on Price, moving to grab Simon’s arm to take him away, needing a moment. You drag him to his room, no words coming from you as your fingers reach for the skull mask sitting over his desk.
The first time that happened, was the night you got here.
He had been wearing a black mask because he knew you were coming that night, and because it was something you two discussed a while ago when he was at your home. Seeing you again made him smile, removing the mask once you were alone in his room, and the hug he received from you… heaven on earth, really.
“Where is it?” you mumbled against his neck, your lips brushing just slightly against his skin. Your breath was warm, and it was making him sleepy in your arms.
“Hm?” Simon had hummed, his fingers running along your skin, caressing and feeling. He could feel your goosebumps, and he’d never been happier. He pulled you even closer, pretending like he didn’t understand what you wanted. Delaying the conversation was the only thing he could do.
“The mask.”
“What mask?”
“Simon.”
He sighed, sitting up from where he was laying with you to dig into the drawers. The balaclava was coarse to the touch, even more so after that day, even if he had washed it until the skull started to fall off —if he tried to bite it off, that’s his business—, but nothing could erase what he did. What they all did to you.
“Why? I can buy another one. A different one.”
“No. Just… let me.” With a shaky hand, you reached out for it. You were quiet for a moment, staring at the mask, weighting it, your thumbs brushing against the fibers. It was only after ten whole minutes, which Simon did count in his mind, that you looked up at him. “Okay. Come here.”
“What? No. You’re insane. You’re doing well. I can’t, and you shouldn’t.” He protested, shaking his head in disbelief, and your wobbly smile did little to reassure him, but when you got on your knees, sitting between his legs, he just froze. He was terrified. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m fine.” Despite your reassurance, Simon kept a gentle hand on your left hip, grounding you, and grounding himself, half-prepared for a fight, or for you to freak out.
Sitting very still, Simon didn’t look away from you as you gently slid down the skull balaclava over his face. Your hands shook, body recoiling slightly, but as soon as his eyes were visible again, you tried to find them, focusing on them. It was nerve cracking, staring at you in silence, expecting you to shoot him or kick his balls —and with zero plans on avoiding it.
When you said nothing for whole ten heartbeats of his, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You’re safe, lovie. It’s me.” For a painful moment, you were radio silent, kneeling in front of him as if your thoughts were far, far away from inside the walls of his room. “Sweetheart? You with me?”
A deep huff left his chest as you tackled him to the bed, your body shaking, refusing to look at the balaclava, but also not letting go of his neck. That first night you slept right against him, the skull mask forgotten at some point of the night, tugged off just so he could feel your skin against his cheeks.
After that, everytime he has to do something, train the recruits, scold somebody, or just go to work out, you’re the one putting the mask on and then taking it off at night. He doesn’t bother questioning it, because he knows why you find it necessary; and in all honesty, if you said it would be better if he didn’t use a mask at all anymore, he would drop it. His face is plenty scary anyways.
Now with the skull balaclava resting over his face, he lifts it just enough to kiss your forehead, hoping it eases your nerves. “Stay in touch. We’re a team, it doesn’t matter if you have to stay back this time.”
“It matters. Price is doing this on purpose.”
“He is. But take it easy, he’s already pushing it by letting you be part of the mission from here, and you know it.” Meeting your eyes, he fears you’ll get mad at him, but you only nod, biting your tongue.
Watching you say goodbye to Garrick, full lips on lips and a soft smile, makes his heart give a warm tug —and squeeze with envy too. Johnny has it worse than him, though, getting a side hug and a little pat on his cheek. Simon’s aware of the lack of intent from Johnny’s part to fix things directly, including the times the sergeant has cried in front of him and not in front of you, but he can also see the improvement between the two of you. You’re less worried, less scared of him. Of them. And Johnny seems happier.
Price’s not so lucky, however. You barely knowledge his presence, but he takes it with grace, giving you a cheeky nod, before walking away with the rest of them. He finds it amusing, the way you never hesitate to jump on their faces, call them out; even before that day, he never knew peace when it came to you. Only when you were in his arms away from the battlefield did he know what true happiness was, and when Johnny joined right next to you… his little piece of heaven.
Right in his heart, he still burns with shame, regret, and disgust for himself —it’s forever rooted in his soul. Hell, Simon’s never been good taking orders, unless they came directly from Price, but that day his instinct, his heart, everything in him, was screaming, begging him to realize it was wrong. Now, he doesn’t know what to expect. It doesn’t matter if it’s been nearly a year since then, he will never forgive himself for screwing up, for becoming the reason for you to shut down into yourself from time to time. Still, that’s for him to carry and to deal with. You’re the one struggling with it.
Their orders were pretty much easy, if he’s honest. Shoot people with guns on sight, rescue the hostages, protect them, and take them back to base. It was easy. Soap’s not one to shy away from a good fighting, and he will put a bullet through anybody’s brain to do his job with no hesitation, especially if it’s to save people, but he wasn’t expecting the twist in their mission. The minute they got the hostages out, seven of them, he kept wondering why they were so… strangely quiet. Ghost clocked on it instantly as well, but they couldn’t be held back because more people could still come, so they moved quickly.
Sergeant Garrick behind them, keeping their backs secure, and the Capt’n up front making sure it was clear for them to move the refugees out to the van, Soap and Ghost moved quickly, keeping the group safe in the middle like a flock of sheep —just as jumpy as the real thing, too. With heavy steps, hesitant looks, and a whole lot of dragging bare feet along the rough floor, they manage to advance. It was easy. Until it wasn’t.
The first bullet went through his own arm. Everybody panicked, rushing to take cover, and Ghost was first thing next to him, his masked face turned to the refugees as he ordered them to stay down. The next bullet, not even a heartbeat later, made Ghost fall on his back, his helmet steaming. Soap didn’t miss where the shot was coming from this time. Right in the middle of the flock of sheep, one of them had a shit-eating grin plastered on their face, a pistol raised.
The L.T laying on the ground, Gaz and Price moving to take the rest away, Soap raised his gun and made an organic strainer right out of the refugee. No hesitation, his instinct roaring. He only came to his senses when Ghost groaned and stood up, grabbing his arm. Soap had forgotten he got shot as well, but that didn’t matter when he could breathe. Simon was okay.
It didn’t matter as they got to the vans, the refugees telling them what happened; a whole lot more talkative now. Apparently, the man had been with them when the shooting started, and pretended to be one of them to save his ass. That’s why they were so hesitant to speak, why they moved so slowly. Didn’t want to be caught in the middle and didn’t want to get killed if they opened their mouths.
That also didn’t matter when Gaz checked on both of them. The bullet went through his arm, but he was alright for the most part, and the adrenaline didn’t let him feel it, anyway. Simon, however, was fucking annoyed. He got shot because he was careless, because he focused on Johnny instead of the mission, and now they all had to go back to the base after not asking for your help, after the Capt’n didn’t let you come, and hurt.
“She’s gon’ have our heads.” Johnny sighs, staring as the refugees sleep, snoring their fear away. According to them, they’ve been prisoners for a month, so Johnny wasn’t sure when was the last time they slept. Didn’t really want to tell them much, however. “And I’m coming back with a fucked arm.”
“She’ll rip my bloody head off,” Price huffs from behind the wheel, eyes looking forward. Johnny can tell he’s already preparing himself, and they all know it’s not gonna be pretty. “Fucking hell.”
The fact that you could’ve genuinely helped them makes him feel extremely guilty. He’s one of the reasons why you can’t come with them, and he’s here, while you’re forced to stay back. And it’s slowly becoming part of himself, is the thing; he can’t go to sleep and expect a good night, because he’s haunted by it, the guilt chasing away his happy memories and replacing them with shame and regret. Johnny’s stained. Worthless.
“Could’ve been useful here. Another pair of eyes on them. That’s why we’re always together, John.” Gaz isn’t one bit happy, arms crossed and his gaze never fully leaving Johnny.
“Bite me, Kyle. You know damn well why she couldn’t come today.”
“Well, if you’d told her that, maybe she would’ve understood.” Gaz snaps back, the rumbling in his chest painfully obvious. Johnny and Simon share a look, choosing to stay quiet during their lovers’ spat. “If you didn’t want her to be back yet, you should’ve ignored her petition. You’re the fucking Captain.”
“Yes, I am, Sergeant. Anything else you wanna add? Another decision you wanna question?”
“... No, sir.”
“Thought so.”
At first, it goes well. Simon helps the sleepy refugees out, the lasses guide them to the choppers, and Garrick and Price aren’t talking, but they’re not fighting anymore. Johnny’s next to him, ignoring the wound in his arm, but they’re both calmly walking to the clinic to get treated quickly. This spotless place gives him flashbacks of that day. The beeping of the machines bite at his brain, his eye twitching as the guilt floods him again, and again. It’s ridiculous, really, because he’s been here multiple times, half-dead and filled with grief from his lost mates… but nothing compares to that day.
Spending time with you made a difference. Your kindness, your understanding, and the lack of anger from your part when you were alone with him helped a lot. Wave after wave of happiness made their way into his heart again, and he could see it again. Your love.
Inside of Price’s office and with his back to you, Simon doesn’t see you coming down the hall, but he can hear hurried steps and he just knows. Could recognize your footsteps anywhere, even in his sleep. And so they all turn, Simon’s blonde eyelashes fluttering at the sight of you. Safe.
There’s no love in your eyes this time, however, when your gaze falls on them. Bloody, ragged, Simon’s slightly fucked helmet in his hand, Johnny’s bandaged arm and Garrick’s angry expression in full display. “What the hell happened?” you demand, your entire body shifting to face Price, who’s taking his gear off from behind his desk, pointedly not staring at you. “Johnny— why didn’t you idiots ask for help? I was right here!”
“We tried to, but—” Garrick tries, bullshiting right through his teeth. Simon clenches his jaw, meeting his dark eyes. Wrong move.
“I tried connecting with all of you, and I got nothing but radio silence back, so don’t give me that bullshit.”
“Things go wrong,” Price huffs, the defensiveness rolling off of him. He turns his back on them, shouldering off his vest. “This went wrong, but we’re all fine. Soap’s alright, too.”
“You’re all in one piece, aye, but you know what?” With a single stride you’re standing in front of Price, your left hip sending his desk flying in the other direction. Instinctively, they all shift, turning to you and taking a step closer, except for Price, who’s staring down at you with a cold expression. “You could’ve been killed. We know how to operate together, and I could’ve been useful. I can’t just sit down on my arse and let you guys go out like that!”
“You’re more useful here.”
“Doing nothing? Don’t give me that,” you snap at Price. For a moment, Simon is scared Price is about to smack you down, but he only rubs his face, looking painfully old. “You don’t want me out there? Alright, but at least make use of me from here, goddamnit! I could’ve helped. The lasses were in position, just waiting to be called in, and what do you do? You go in blind!”
“They couldn’t have helped. One of the hostages—”
“I know that, one of them told me already!” Your voice is raising, your entire body shaking badly with anger. Simon can see the repressed emotions in your expression, the way you’re letting it all out on Price. He’s never seen you this angry before; maybe only when Johnny smacked your ass that one time years ago —pretty sure he still remembers the taste of your boots—. “Not because they were there themselves. What, we can’t go now? That’s what this is about?”
“What are you even talking about?” Price’s face twitches, offense clear in it.
“I think maybe we should…” Johnny tries to meddle, taking a step towards you, but that’s another wrong move. Your head turns just a bit, your eyes never fully leaving Price, and Johnny and Garrick take a step back at the same time, looking away. Simon, however, only stares, silent. —If his pants are a little tighter now, that’s his business—.
“Us. Women. What, you fucked up with me and now you can’t trust yourself not to fuck up again? Scared you’re gonna get a new reputation for that?”
“That has nothing to do with it, that’s absurd! What’s gotten into you? Since when do you believe I think such things?” Price jabs his finger in your forehead, forcing you to take a step back. Simon sees the mistake clear as day, the anger burning deep in your eyes, the cracking of your wrist when your right hand lifts.
A hard finger jabs into Price’s chest, your curved fingernail stabbing into his chest. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. If you didn’t want me back, you should’ve said so!”
At that point, Garrick steps away, leaving them there as he removes himself from the situation. Johnny follows right after him, meeting Simon’s eyes to urge him to leave as well. In the end, he also turns on his heels, and closes the door behind him. Your loud voice and Price’s raising tone ring in the air until he’s back in his room.
The music coming from his headphones bounce from one ear to the other, resonating in his brain now that he’s in his bed. Honestly, the last time he saw anybody go off on Price like that was so, so long ago, he doesn’t even think you were there to see it. Who knows, maybe his mind is playing tricks and you were that person too.
The soft pillows help his mind drift away, not wanting to think of you probably stabbing the captain as he just lays here, but… you wouldn’t. You two argue like real father and daughter, and he knows the care and love is just as real. Simon knows you’re pissed, and he knows its valid, but he also fully understands Price, even if he wouldn’t do the same. Hell, he wouldn’t have let you come back, but he can’t make that call, after all.
Simon’s eyes fall shut, Chad Kroeger’s voice filling the void of emotions settling in his stomach. Only his thumb moving against his stomach to the rhythm of the drums gives away that he’s awake, because he barely makes noise —unless he’s snoring. He’s one loud snorer. He’s proud of it. Good lungs.
He would’ve fallen asleep, if not for the dip in the bed that makes him open his eyes. Your face is a bit puffy, your hair slightly messy and curled from the tight bun you were wearing before, black hair tie now around your wrist. Simon’s hand lifts to your cheek on pure instinct, the momentary peace barely letting him think and process the fact that you’re leaning down.
“Do you recall how long it must have been since any room held only you and me?
And every song that sings about it, says that we can't live without it.
Now I know just what that really means”
Your lips feel soft on his, salty, and the sliding of your warm tongue on his is so slow, so perfect that the blood rushes to his chest, leaving him breathless. Simon wasn’t expecting anything like this, not when you were so busy fighting Price just a few minutes ago, but it’s… everything.
And it’s bloody perfect.
Simon manages to breathe through it, deep fear of you pulling away from him eats at his heart, his brain screaming at him to hold you against him, to never let you leave, but his hands can only cup your cheek, hold your forearm. He’s on cloud nine, his heart pounding so forcefully against his chest that he’s half afraid he’ll break his ribcage.
But nothing, absolutely nothing matters when your arms wrap around his neck, both of you shifting until you’re on your back on his bed, headphones forgotten on the floor as he can only look at you. You’re messy, and there are tear streaks on your cheeks, but he can’t think of any day you’ve looked more beautiful than today.
“You could’ve died.”
That makes Simon take a shaky breath. He couldn’t care less if he died right now, if he got to hold you in his arms just a moment longer. Not planning on dying, he only nods his head softly, not wanting to remind you that that is literally your jobs. “I know.”
“And I wasn’t there.”
“I’m back. And you’re here.”
“I should’ve been there. It’s stupid that I’m just…” You trail off, your fingers curling on his nape, fingernails brushing on his skin. Simon lifts an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, knowing you’re not done yet. After a moment, your arms tighten around his neck, fingers lost in his hair and then your lips are on his again.
Simon wouldn’t mind dying like this.
-ˋˏ✄——————————————————
todo lo escrito anteriormente es ficción y de ninguna forma intenta aludir a algún tipo de organización de la vida real. es ficción y entretenimiento. ☝️🤓
buy me a coffee!
well! we've come so far. we have... six chapters left so don't be so happy yet. but hey, progress!! so exciting.
we're a little over 1k now, you guys. i can't thank you enough~ hope i can keep making fics we all enjoy. special shotout to @sheepispink because I wouldn't be here without her amazing sergeant reader series (and her friendship). best thing ever, forever thankful!
also, I hope it didnt come off as Laswell being into Gaz and Price 💔 she's just v cool!
the whole thing w the mexican mafia... ;) surely nothing bad will happen and nothing in this chapter is foreshadowing for anything!
The original tweet summarizes it pretty well. Fanfic tends to be popular among certain types of neurodivergent people (aka people most likely to read excessively as a child, and have burnout as an adult) for the same reasons that we tend to hyperfixate–neurochemical signaling (I hope I’m using that phrase correctly). What I mean is, for people who are really dependent on changes in dopamine/serotonin/neurotransmitter levels, who have low levels or wonky neural reward systems (perhaps the most common types of neurodivergence)…people like us rely on dependable external sources of those neurochemicals. In order to function, we spend a lot of our free time trying to level out our brain chemistry using things that can reliably bring us a steady stream of joyful moments (rewards) without costing too much of the mental effort that is already in short supply.
significantly: the investment of reading has to be balanced with a steady “return on investment”–and this return has to start fairly quickly. because again, we don’t have a lot of attention/energy to invest on tiring things. we have perpetual “low batteries” in that regard.
that doesn’t mean these stories are “simple,” or that they lack complexity or value–only that the reward has to come in short regular intervals, and it has to have a low “upfront cost.” these stories are only “easy” to read in the sense that the effort we put into them is rewarded in a timely manner. which is why fanfic stories are so perfectly formulated for neurodivergent readers–they are often beautifully written, but skip a lot of the upfront costs (of introducing new characters, of world-building, of getting the audience emotionally connected to the story elements).
the nature of fanfiction is that the reader has a pre-existing relationship with this world and these characters. that–combined with the shorter average length of fics–means that fan fics very quickly start rewarding the reader in a way that traditional fiction struggles to. that’s not a bad thing! and maybe it’s something more traditionally published writers should be paying attention to.
Fanfic, as a genre, has been uniquely helpful and accessible to many neurodivergent readers who would otherwise struggle to immerse themselves in stories. I’m glad so many of you have found a way to love and enjoy reading again! The important thing is that you are spending time inside stories you love–the way those stories are published or presented to the world is just one detail. The fact that you find joy in the process of reading (or listening!) to stories–that is what matters.
So, let me guess– you just started a new book, right? And you’re stumped. You have no idea how much an AK47 goes for nowadays. I get ya, cousin. Tough world we live in. A writer’s gotta know, but them NSA hounds are after ya 24/7. I know, cousin, I know. If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…
You’re in luck, cousin. I have just the thing for ya.
It’s called Havocscope. It’s got information and prices for all sorts of edgy information. Ever wondered how much cocaine costs by the gram, or how much a kidney sells for, or (worst of all) how much it costs to hire an assassin?
I got your back, cousin. Just head over to Havocscope.
((PS: In case you’re wondering, Havocscope is a database full of information regarding the criminal underworld. The information you will find there has been taken from newspapers and police reports. It’s perfectly legal, no need to worry about the NSA hounds, cousin ;p))
Want more writerly content? Follow maxkirin.tumblr.com!
“Below are selected prices that are paid to professional assassins by criminal organizations and drug cartels for a contract hit.
In Australia, the median price to hire a hit man is $13,610 (9,800 Euros), with the price going up to $83,000 (60,000 Euros) based on the task.
In Mexico, the cost for a low level assassin is $208 (150 Euros), and up to $20,832 (15,000 Euros) for a higher profile target like a police chief.
The prices paid in Argentina are between $3,749 (2,700 Euros) to $5,555 (4,000 Euros) per hit.
Government statistics in Spain state that 40 assassinations take place each year, with prices for the hit ranging between $27 (20 Euros) to $69,000 (50,000 Euros).”
So cheap! I always thought things like this would cost more than $1 million…
In response to the game I have always wondered how Price would react with having a goth/metal head partner, like they have tattoos and piercings and everything. How would he react??
If I remember correctly, Barry once said in an IG live that Price listens to Slipknot. If that's true, he would fucking love the idea of a metal head partner because he can go to these concerts with them. And if they look the part, it's even better since he can't allow himself to be like that.
Hi! Random Tumblr stranger and fellow COD/Price fan here. I was scrolling through and saw this post, thought I might add a bit more to it. ❤️
In the early aughts (2001-2004?) Barry was part of a punk rock band in Liverpool called "Smiling Jackals"
Proper eyebrow piercing and all. Just about swallowed my tongue the first time I saw it.
Also, I believe it was during one of his interviews with Dan Allen that he mentioned Price listening to rock/metal to help him stay calm in the midst of the chaos (can't find the quote right now).
Barry also made an official Captain Price playlist on Spotify that's pretty epic:
Rohypnol has an INCREDIBLY salty taste to it. It’s disgusting. And it also isn’t a drug that acts immediately! The minute you notice the salty taste, you have about 5-10 minutes to get somewhere safe or call an ambulance, and it CAN be fought if you’re aware of it. It will make you woozy, it will make you so dizzy you can’t stand upright, it will certainly make you unable to walk properly, but if you struggle to remain conscious you can get about 20 extra minutes of consciousness from the drug before it will knock you out completely. If you’re in a public place, and the person who drugged you is trying to take you somewhere private, start. a. fight. Insist as LOUDLY and as VIOLENTLY as you can that you refuse to go anywhere with them. Odds are they’re trying to make as little of a scene as possible as they drag you away, and if you’re putting up a fight and very clearly ‘drunk’, eyes will turn on them and they’ll either need to let you go, or cause a serious scene, which they don’t want. Don’t just act like you’re just protesting being taken home, though. Fight like your life depends on it even if they aren’t assaulting you. Cause. A. Scene. That’s the last thing they want.
The director of cybersecurity from the Electronic Freedom Foundation is offering to help women who have been threatened with compromise of their devices.
OH MY GOD SO NO FUCKIN BULLSHIT I SWEAR To GOD. I reblogged this an hour ago and IM NOT Lying My Tax Refund which I did in late march popped into my Bank Account, and it was a Decent sized amount……
WHAT THE FUCK Is THIS MAGIC!??!?!?! Im trying this again IM NOT BSing hahahaha thats actually pretty cool xD
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