kitty-satan1

[kitty-satan1]

[kitty-satan1]

"You clean up the docks, and stay quiet."

[kitty-satan1]

[kitty-satan1]

✨🧼

[kitty-satan1]

*poke*

[kitty-satan1]

equality wins! every one gets deployed

[kitty-satan1]

**For the guys asking I found the hoodie HERE with free shipping

[kitty-satan1]

hey don’t cry. spiro the bald eagle failing at catching a crab, okay?

[kitty-satan1]

rip mythbusters you would've loved destroying cybertrucks

[kitty-satan1]

hello again (bill clinton limewire voice) my fellow americans

There are a few states that actually have Shield/Refuge laws designed to help trans people fleeing from trans-unsafe states, which also guarantee trans folks access to healthcare. These states are:

California

Colorado

Illinois

Oregon

Vermont

Washington

Minnesota

New Mexico

Maine

Massachusetts

Rhode Island

Connecticut

Washington D.C.

Additionally, some states have "trans sanctuary" executive orders signifying safety for trans folks seeking healthcare. These states are:

Maryland

New Jersey

New York

Living as a resident in these states means you are protected by state's rights and state government to continue or begin receiving trans healthcare. These laws have been codified in their states so everything has been a-ok'd by their state governments.

Stay alive. You got this. I love you.

[kitty-satan1]

Keeping it tactical ✔️

[kitty-satan1]

He monch

[kitty-satan1]

If Harris loses, please try blaming real issues (Republican-driven voter suppression and intimidation tactics; billionaire-funded Trump-PAC’s and propaganda machines; a broken electoral system that hinges presidential elections on a dozen or so states instead of a simple popular vote; or the Democratic Party’s fumbled opportunities to respond to things like the corporate greed driven cost of living crisis, the housing shortage, the medical debt and healthcare accessibility crisis, the ongoing climate disaster, and the ongoing genocide in Palestine) instead of doing the Right’s job for them by blaming folks like climate protestors, Antizionist and pro-Palestine activists, Black and Brown people, jaded millennials living paycheck to paycheck, and tumblr users with an audience ⅛ the size of the average Christofascist MegaChurch Congregation.

[kitty-satan1]

if you're feeling powerless right now—and god knows I am—here's a reminder you can donate to the National Network of Abortion Funds, the Trans Law Center, Gaza Soup Kitchen, the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, and hundreds of other charities that will work to mitigate the damage that has been and will continue to be inflicted

life continues. we still have the capacity to do good, important work. that matters

[kitty-satan1]

The End of the World

Teen || Ghost x Soap || 1.5k

Read it on AO3

--------

cw: nuclear warfare, angst, major character death

The 141 had failed.

Really, the whole world had failed, but it was hard not to shoulder the blame as a personal burden. Mutually Assured Destruction, Price had called it, and Soap hadn't realized just how apt the name was until he'd seen it for himself.

World War 3, some called it, but most called it how they saw it: the end of the world.

There wasn't a country on earth left unaffected. Bomb shelters hadn't saved even the billionaires, and everyone below them hadn't stood a chance. Ground troops weren't needed for nuclear war, so the 141 had been disbanded pretty quickly after launch codes started being thrown around. Price and Laswell had done what they could, had started to take matters into their own hands, but there were only so many assassinations they could pull off in the short time they had before the aforementioned end of the fucking world, and once bombs had started flying, killing the top dogs was rendered next to useless.

So Price had cut them loose, told them to go spend their last moments with family instead of dying in some military barrack. It had been a gut wrenching moment. Soap had hugged Price and Gaz in turn and hadn't ever wanted to let go of either of them. But he had to; Price and Nik were fucking off to wherever they planned to spend the rest of their days, and Gaz had enough living relatives that he actually liked to make going home worth it.

That left Soap and Ghost.

Which was fine by them, really. It had always been the two of them; sergeant and lieutenant, Soap and Ghost, Johnny and Simon. It seemed fitting that it would be the two of them at the end of it all, too.

They were sitting on a grassy hill somewhere in Scotland, partially because it was where Johnny’s car had run out of gas and partially because it afforded them a truly excellent view of the entirety of England burning on the horizon. Johnny sat in between Simon’s legs, his back pressed to Simon’s chest, and his arms resting atop Simon’s where they were wrapped around his torso. He could feel each of Simon’s slow, measured breaths against his back and cheek, their faces next to each other as they both stared into the distance.

It was oddly quiet, the calm before the storm, peaceful despite the impending danger. Birds sang in the trees above them even as Johnny felt heat from the blast on his face. They didn’t have long before the bombs got close enough to catch them in the radius of nuclear fallout; an hour, maybe, probably less.

“I didn’t want it to end like this,” Simon murmured, soft against the shell of Johnny’s ear.

“We did everything we could, love,” Johnny replied, turning sideways in Simon’s hold to be able to press a kiss to the bare skin of his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince SImon or himself, but it was fairly moot either way. In an hour, it wouldn’t matter if they’d done their best or not; they’d still be dead. Simon hummed in response, as unconvinced as Johnny was. Johnny twisted back to his original position, secure in SImon’s arms, eyes on the horizon.

It was beautiful, in a way. The pyromaniac in him could appreciate the bright flashes of reds and yellows and the Scotsman in him could appreciate the sight of England burning. But he knew better than to let his personal prejudice, joking or not, cloud his empathy towards millions of lives going up, quite literally, in flames. The sheer world wide devastation was sobering. Haunting. Terrifying.

“Simon,” he said softly, after a long moment of silence. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Simon said, just as softly. “I am, too.”

The admission was a far cry from where they’d started, all those years ago. The Simon that Johnny had first met, shrouded in bone and eyeblack, would never had admitted so easily to fear. The Johnny that Simon had first met probably wouldn’t have, either. But they’d spent almost a decade tearing down and rebuilding their walls, firmly ensconcing each other within the protective boundaries of their hearts. There was nothing that they couldn’t reveal to each other now.

“I would’ve married you, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “If they’d have let me.”

“Yeah?” Johnny asked, his heart and breath jumping in his throat. Marriage, for them, had always been an impossibility and they’d both known it. Even without laws restricting gay men in service, their relationship was a clear breach of fraternization rules. Price had turned a blind eye to it, but making it official in the eyes of the government was a far-fetched dream.

“In a heartbeat,” Simon hummed in confirmation. “Small ceremony, just the 141 and whichever friends weren’t getting shot at for long enough to come. Always imagined you walkin’ down the aisle in a kilt, Price givin’ you away. But if you wanted it the other way around, I’d’ve walked down the aisle for you. ‘S long as it ended with us both at the altar.”

“Simon,” Johnny breathed, turning to stare at his profile, silhouetted by brilliant, glowing red.

“Would’ve had fireworks for our send off,” Simon continued, tilting his head to meet Johnny’s gaze with a small, sad smile. “Know how much you love ‘em.” He looked back to the horizon, to his home country burning to the ground. “I guess this is as close as we’ll ever get to that.”

And then Johnny was crying. Silent tears at first, burning the edges of his eyes like lit gunpowder, and then great, heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. The depth of his want was an ache in his chest, a gaping maw that threatened to cave his ribs in, to sink his breastbone until it hit his spine, nothing but sheer, desperate yearning left in its wake. It was childish, he knew, to cry over something as trivial as an impossible ceremony when he’d spent years by his love’s side, but it wasn’t just that, not really. It was the unfairness of it all. The greed, the ambition, the ignorance that had gotten them here, to this awful, hopeless moment.

“It’s not fair,” he sobbed, burying his face in Simon’s chest, his hands clutching desperately at the soft shirt stretched across his broad back like a lifeline, like the crumpled fabric in his fists was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“It’s not,” Simon murmured, his lips pressed into his hair, and Johnny could hear the tears in his voice, the hitch in his breath. “It’s not fucking fair, love.”

There was no comfort in the words, only helpless commiseration. The only comfort lay in the heat of Simon’s thighs bracketing his, the tears he could feel dripping from Simon’s chin onto the shaved portions of his head, the stuttered sweep of Simon’s hand down his back.

When his sobs leveled out, smoothing into soft breathing again, his tears were dried by the impending heat. The explosions were closer now, close enough to shake the ground beneath them, but neither of them moved. There was no escaping. Johnny felt wrung out as he leaned his weight on Simon, leaning into the comforting heat of him instead of the familiar heat of destruction. He hadn’t wanted it to end like this, either. He’d wanted that wedding, retirement with the love of his life, a secluded cottage with a cat or two, lazy nights and even lazier mornings. He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with Simon, but not like this. Never like this.

It was better than nothing, though.

“I’m glad that it’s us,” he said, voice roughened by tears and the dust kicked up from the approaching devastation. “I didn’t want it to end this way, but I’m glad that we’re together.”

The next explosion was close enough to ruffle their clothes in the shockwave and Simon tilted Johnny’s head up, his thumb lightly stroking the scar there with an impossibly soft look in his eyes. Johnny wanted to live in his eyes, wanted to drown in that softness. He’d never tire of Simon’s eyes and the depths they held.

“It’ll always be us, Johnny,” Simon said. “Where you go, I go. I’ve got your six.”

The birdsong had stopped, Johnny vaguely registered, but it was the least of his concerns as Simon pulled him closer, their lips connecting in a gentle brush. There was no rush, no thrumming impatience, no underlying need to take more. Just the two of them, tangled together so tightly that neither knew where one ended and the other began, their endless love expressed in the simple press of skin and lips.

Centuries later, when their bones were found, skeletons curled together like puzzle pieces, locked in an immortal embrace, the only thing that was known about them was that they loved each other, deeply, infinitely, right up until the end.

[kitty-satan1]

Wait, you were actually born in the 1900's? Thats so cool

i am going to eat my own entire skin

[kitty-satan1]

TIL anyone who's going to overwinter in Antarctica has to have had their appendix out. Because removing an appendix that's not causing any trouble just as a precaution is way better than having one that's about to burst when you're on the ass-end of the planet with no way to be rushed to a hospital if shit gets real.