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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 years

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“A Second Look at Religion” - Freedom From Religion Foundation, 1980.

Sheila Thompson: Ruth, I know you were a churchgoer for over half a century. What happened? What changed your mind?

Ruth Hurmence Green: You might say I was a half-hearted Methodist. I wasn't happy or comfortabe with religion. I wasn't totally committed. I had doubts, I just didn't deal with them. What lead me to my present commitment was the suggestion by a relative that the Bible might not be all that I thought it was. And this suggestion lead me to investigate for myself.

I read the Bible with an open mind, I was ready to accept it. But I hadn't gotten very far into it before I saw that it was very different from what I imagined it to be.

Sheila: Different in what way, Ruth?

Ruth: Well, I'd been told that the Bible was a good book, an inspirational book. I can remember singing a song in church about those "Wonderful Words of Life." And these were the words that I expected to find.

Instead, I found a record of, how shall I put it, such superstitious silliness and ignorance, such moral obscenities, such ghastly atrocities as I'd never even imagined. I found the Bible personalities, God's favorites, and even God himself to be utter reprobates.

In this book, where I'd expected to find ethical guidelines, every kind of behavior that was repugnant to me was glorified and rewarded. Even perpetrated and commanded by God himself. I felt betrayed. I was outraged that this book should be exerpted in this way and misrepresented.

Sheila: You say you felt betrayed. How was that?

Ruth: Well, after all, I'd been more or less exposed to this book all my life, without knowing that hardly anyone in it, God included, could serve as a role-model for a reputable person who didn't want to end up in prison or on death-row.

It was this kind of disillusionment that lead me to say I detested the Bible, as Thomas Paine said he detested it in "The Age of Reason." There wasn't one page of this book that didn't offend me in some way. In fact, after a session of reading it, I always wanted to go and take a bath in grandma's lye soap.

If there is human or divine behavior that is too vile to merit description, you'll find it in this book.

Sheila: What specific instances shocked you the most?

Ruth: I think God's behavior offended me the most. After all, I thought it would be beyond reproach. But the Bible tells me that this lord of the whole universe comes down to this little speck of Earth, and picks out a small group of warring tribes to be his favorites. And he doesn't do anything but hover over them and live among them for 4000 years. He despises everybody else in the world, because they have other gods. And he makes his chosen people despise everybody else too.

Sheila: You have said that the Bible is a book that shouldn't be given to children. Why do you say that, Ruth?

Ruth: I feel deeply that immature minds should not be exposed to the Bible for several reasons. After all, this book is supposed to be the perfect behavior guide. But instead, it's full of violence and depravity and twisted morality. After all, if we tell our children that it's a beautiful act to cause your own child to be killed to appease your anger, I don't know what we can teach them that's reprehensible.

And this leads me into my main objection. Which is that I don't think children should be exposed to the terrors of the Christian religion. I say this from my own experience. When I was growing up, I didn't like the awful Bible stories. I was terrified, many hours, that the end of the world was coming. I shuddered at any mention of torture or the crucifixion. I still feel that way today. Easter was a time of horror for me, I wanted to retire from the world.

I feel sad that this Christian torture symbol, the cross, is being imposed more and more upon our landscape, and even worn as jewellery. And often there's a suffering, bleeding figure attached to it. I don't think we would tolerate this replica of a hangman's noose being used in this way. I think this whole thing is brutalizing.

This emblem of suffering and shame that old hymns, that we used to sing about is pictured as something beautiful. When actually, it's just a grizzly holdover from the old pagan superstition that the gods had to be appeased with human sacrifice. And this became a basic tenet of Christianity.

In fact, Paul says that without shedding of blood is no remission. I don't think that children should be taught these old superstitions. Of human sacrifice and ghosts and devils and demonology and exorcism and signs and wonders. I think these are horrors of the past and we should bury them. Our children shouldn't be made to eat the body of a god, or drink his blood, however symbolically.

Of course there are good teachings, some good teachings in the Bible, it would be strange if there weren't considering the number of people who contributed to it, and the length of it. But, I think that hunting out good behavior in the Bible is like wading through a sewer to find a gem. We shouldn't have to sift our morality from a book, one of whose main themes is the sacrifice of innocent animals and human beings. There are superior teachings in other books, they're all lined up in your library shelves.

Sheila: But Ruth, what do you say to those people who think that the Bible is a book about love?

Ruth: I studied every page of this book, and I didn't find enough love to fill a salt shaker. God is not love in the Bible. God is vengeance, from alpha to omega. He doesn't any more than get people created until he curses them and withdraws from them, and he finally comes up with a plan whereby he's gonna damn most of them forever.

Sheila: Do you mean God actually did this on purpose?

Ruth: Yes, deliberately. He is the potter who molds the clay to honor and dishonor. Which totally nullifies any free will. Jesus says that the way, the understanding is deliberately withheld, even from people who want to know it. And he knows that his plan of salvation is going to be damnation for most of the people in the world, because he says "strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, and few there be that find it." Predestination is taught all through the New Testament. It makes it very clear that the names of those who are saved are already written in the Book of Life, from the beginning of the world.

And not only is this not love, I think it is the most diabolical unfairness that was ever taught or devised.

Sheila: Say Ruth, what does the Bible have to say about the Christian family we hear so much about today?

Ruth: Personally, I think the Christian family should be called the Christian fantasy. When the Lord sets up the sexual system, he's very interested in multiplying, but he says nothing at all about the family as the nuclear unit. In fact, he decimates families every time he has a chance.

Jesus is rude to his mother and his siblings, he denies his family. He doesn't marry or father children and he makes the disciples abandon their family. He says that anyone who wants to follow him must forsake all their loved ones and everything that they have. He never once uses the word "family." In fact, that word appears just once in the New Testament.

Besides, sex is sinful in the Bible. Women defile men. I just don't see how that attitude is very conducive to producing families.

Sheila: You've told audiences, Ruth, that the Bible is a dangerous book. Why?

Ruth: The Bible is one of 27 holy books, all written by human beings. If you can make people believe in a god, and then convince them that this god revealed himself in a book, call that the "Word of God," you have a very powerful tool. And you're not about to relinquish that book. You're gonna make it unassailable. And we may not be dragged out of our beds and burned at the stake any more, but we're still in danger from this book. Because it's still being used to influence our lives, to deny people their equal rights and freedom of choice.

I feel that the Bible is a grab-bag - I call it a behavior grab-bag. Because it can be reached into for justification of any kind of behavior. Of any kind of crusade or vendetta against any group or person that you want to make your target.

There was a song, popular, several years ago, you may not remember it, but it was called the "Three Little Words." Now, these were nice words: "I love you." But the three little words that I hate to hear most today, that I dislike to hear the most are: "the Bible says." Just let somebody say something sensible, or a reasonable conclusion be arrived at, and someone pops up with the words, "but... the Bible says."

I feel that we should stop wasting our time trying to please the supernatural, and concentrate on improving the welfare of human beings. I think that we should use our energy, our initiative to solve our problems and stop relying on prayer and wishful thinking. I believe that if we have faith in ourselves, we won't have to have faith in gods.

#Ruth Hurmence Green #Sheila Thompson #A Second Look at Religion #Freedom from Religion Foundation #christianity #bible #bible study #bible horrors #bible morality #read the book #the bible says

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stardust948 · 8 months

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I hope whoever stole my package is enjoying my Grandma Lye soap

#idk what they were expecting #irl

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moose-a-licious · 17 days

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My grandma is Swedish. Every year we made lefse.

She also really really really loves lutefisk. It’s because that’s how people survived something?

I remember the first time they had me try it. Not for me…. But I remember many people celebrating it near their home. It’s made with lye.

You can make soap out of lye.

You get lye from running water through hardwood ashes.

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redorangman · 4 months

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1952 HITS ARCHIVE: It’s In The Book (Grandma’s Lye Soap) - Johnny Standl...

#youtube

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woodwardwolff32 · 1 year

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spongythedollyteapartyfan-blog · 1 year

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1952 HITS ARCHIVE: It’s In The Book (Grandma’s Lye Soap) - Johnny Standl...

oh this day, 70 years ago, It's in The Book was the #22 song in 1952 in the Pop charts. The song was performed by Johnny Standley

a comedien preists sermon was the highest selling single in 1952

music records of 1952

Lyle soap song,

this was also sung in combination with a double play song, as in 1950 to 1990, radio;stations would play 2 songs that, gave a similar vibe,

the other song was, "Why Don't You Believe Me?" Joni James

#youtube

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systlin · 4 years

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Every fucking where being sold out of soap is rough for me because i handle my chickens regularly, and wash my hands before and after and also intern at a wildlife rehab center, where i have to wash my hands all the time

Good news is that small time soap makers are everywhere online, and also here

https://www.ebay.com/itm/Grandmas-Lye-Soap-Bar-Pure-Lye-6oz-lot-of-2/233377133157?hash=item36565c7265:g:9ocAAOSwJ5pdryCx

#Anonymous

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letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked · 5 years

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Ashes to Dust

Tony Stark X Reader

A/N: This is for @thefanficfaerie A Picture’s Worth A Thousand Words challenge! My moodboard prompt was “The House at The End of The Street”, and this is my spin on it! This was really fun to write!

Summary: Y/n had one rule: don’t try to change the future. No matter how much she wanted to. Then, one horrifying Halloween, she begins to question her rule when her visions turn into something worse than ever before… The End. Will she change it? Can she change it?

Word Count: About 4,100

Warnings: Angst, Infinity War, and swears…

Main Masterlist

6 months…

“Tony, it’s me…” Y/n couldn’t help he slight waver in her voice, as she paced back and forth in her bedroom, listening to the old creaking of the house as she tried to gather her bearings, “I… You need to get over here. Now. It’s… Oh my god, Tony. It’s bad. It was so bad… You just… please come. Please.”

She quickly ended the call, hoping that he’d check his phone before she had to summon FRIDAY to get him.

He’d been a busy bee lately, but… she really needed her boyfriend, right now.

It was bad, this time…

Since the shit that happened with the accords, the team getting split up, Pepper finding someone new, dealing with the government, and the crazy that tended to follow Tony Stark… He’d been a little high strung. He’d barely had any time to see her as of late, even though they talked every day. It had been at least two weeks since she’d gotten the chance to touch him, and that was two weeks too long. She missed him.

She’d gone through long stretches of time throughout their lives where the only time she saw him was on the news, but things were different now. They were in an exclusive relationship, and she was no longer on the backburner of Tony Stark’s life – like when they were growing up.

They met at the park as children, and - knowing exactly who he was at four years old – she ran up to him on the playground asking him to play. He was weirded out that she knew him by name, but immediately agreed. They played for hours, until her grandma came back from the farmer’s market and brought her home.

It wasn’t until they were nearly ten years old that she saw him, again. She’d prepared – agonized – about the moment she would see him for days, worried that he was going to think that she was a creep. When they met again, though, he was intrigued. He was so dang smart that he figured it out right away, that something was wrong with her. Y/n was… definitely weird. She named him by name, as she did the first time, but… she asked him about JARVIS. Problem was, she meant the computer, and he thought she meant Edwin Jarvis.

She’d gotten the timeline wrong.

It was easy to do when you had The Sight.

God, she felt like a bad Halloween movie when she thought about it.

After the slight slip, Y/n was forced – without giving any details about the things she saw – to tell Tony the truth about her sight. She told him that she’d seen him before meeting him at the playground, and how she knew they were going to meet that day. She had even told him that she knew they were going to be great friends as adults.

Surprisingly, Tony took that news in stride, and they were great friends… until his parents died.

He didn’t speak to her for nearly a decade.

Maria and Howard’s deaths weren’t her fault, by any means, but… he knew she had the sight. That was the downfall of telling people. He was too consumed by his grief to remember that she couldn’t control what she did and didn’t see, and – even if she could – people would go mad if they really knew their future.

Sometimes she felt mad…

She had one rule: Never try to change the future.

The future was a fickle thing. The biggest question was always: can you change your future, or is it set in stone? She was unsure. Every vision she’d ever seen had come true, in her experience. It wasn’t an answer, though. Was the future’s outcome set in stone, whether or not you change your decisions? Could a decision completely change the outcome of a future? Did she only see the true outcome, or was it unchanged because she did nothing to change it?

Either way, it wasn’t her place to try and mess with the universe.

Her last vision had her second guessing her rule.

There was… god there was so much death. This would mean… this would mean the end of the world as they knew it.

In an attempt to calm her nerves, she grabbed her black cat – Luna – off the bed and brought her downstairs with her. Luna, sensing something was wrong with Y/n, meowed loudly and nuzzled her head under Y/n’s chin in comfort.

“Thank you.” She sighed to the cat, scratching her behind her ears before placing her on the couch in her highly-decorated living room. “I’m going to clean up and make some coffee.” Luna meowed in response. “Yeah, yeah, caffeine. Okay. I’ll make tea, then. Calm me down.”

Her black booties clicked against the wood floors as she made her way to the door to her greenhouse, where she grew her own herbs and flowers. Among other things. The place was supposed to be her sanctuary… until today. She paused at the doorway, closing her eyes for a moment as flashes of her latest vision got her heart racing, again.

She’d been in the greenhouse, collecting some peppers and tomatoes to make into a few jars of salsa in exchange for a couple dozen eggs from one of her neighbors. She’d had a few coffee cans full of ashes from her fireplace on her table that she’d intended to use to make lye for homemade soaps, when her produce basket bumped a can – sending the open container to the ground.

As the can hit the dirt ground, ash flew up; swirling into the cool, autumn air. The dreary sky turned dark, and she felt the familiar pressure behind her eyes that she got while a vision happened. The scenes of her greenhouse and her vision melded together, and she felt the fear and blind panic of her future self. She was in New York, watching the scene before her as ash and dust blew through the air, and – though there were the terrified screams of the other citizens – there was an eerie silence to the city. The only sound was the fluttering of the ash falling to the ground like a fresh snow.

She turned her head, and she was suddenly surrounded by crystal clear water – spanning around her like mirrored glass. The sky was a vibrant red, yellow sparkling though as if the sky was on fire, growing lighter in hue as the colors hit the horizon line – the ombre reflecting back over the endless stretch of water. She was standing underneath a stone canopy, whose floor seemed to blend seamlessly in the unmoving, reflective water.

A… man… who didn’t look like a man… was slowly gliding through the water, walking towards her.

“Daughter?”

He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking behind her.

She turned, watching as a little girl – who didn’t look human – moved to look back at the man before her. “Did you do it?”

“Yes.” The man looked down morosely, a heavy weight upon his shoulders as he thought about what he’d done.

“What did it cost?”

He looked back to the young girl, a soulless look in his eyes as he replied: “Everything…”

A gasp broke her from her trance, as the basket she’d been holding fell to the ground – its contents rolling though the ash that coated the ground, like her vision. Her lungs were on fire, as her trembling hands flew to her mouth, her legs giving out from under her as she fell to her knees in anguish. Tears were leaving hot trails down her chilled skin, and she was afraid to close her eyes – the vision burned into her memories.

Oh…god.

Immediately after that, she’d ran to her room, nearly tripping over her Halloween décor and vomiting into her toilet.

Then, she’d called Tony.

She’d seen… She’d seen it. The end of the world.

Taking a steadying breath, she moved through the doorway, into the warmth of her greenhouse. A place that had once been so comforting to her, plagued with the memories of her vision.

“There’s nothing you can do.” She whispered to herself, bending down to pick her produce off the floor and straighten up the mess in her garden. “There’s nothing you can do.”

She glanced over to her shelf, where she kept her important items. The pumpkin-headed doll that contained her grandmother’s ashes was in its usual spot, but she felt like… she felt like the damn doll was judging her.

That damn doll was always judging her.

“Right?” She was second guessing herself. She wasn’t supposed to mess with the future. She was only there to witness it, not to change it… that’s what her grandmother always told her. Trying to change the course of fate was only setting yourself up for failure and heartbreak. “But…”

“Y/n?!” She heard Tony’s panicked voice, as he burst through the front door, nearly shattering the glass window. “Sweetheart, where are you?!”

“Kitchen!” She called back, after quickly grabbing her tin for chamomile tea. “Making tea.”

His pristine appearance was comforting. His three-piece suit unwrinkled, though his face looked worn and exhausted. Without hesitation, he immediately gathered her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hand up and down her spine in comfort. “Honey, what happened?”

“Vision.” She sagged in his arms, the tears she’d been furiously trying to end melting away with the comfort that his arms brought her. “It was… awful.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“You know I can’t.” She whispered, trying to breathe in as much of his smell as she could, feeling like she could finally get oxygen in her lungs. “But… I need you. I’m freaked out.”

“Okay.” He nodded, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. “You know I’m always here to talk about it, if you need to.”

She pulled back, wiping her face and resuming her task of making tea, “Want a cup?”

“I guess so.” His face scrunched up in disgust, “As long as it’s not that nasty green shit, again.”

“You had the flu, of course you thought it tasted nasty.” She snorted, getting the kettle on the stove. “So, what do you think about the house?”

He glanced around, getting up and investigating the decorations that she’d put up a week prior. He even opened the front door to inspect the fake spider webs, the pumpkins, and the little pumpkin shrine in the yard, where the well was supposed to be. “Well… it looks like… You’re really into Halloween.”

“That was the point.”

“Honey, you always look like Halloween threw up on you.” He laughed gesturing to her outfit, which was a black dress, black tights, and black, heeled booties. “You scream Halloween year-round.”

“I live for the aesthetic.” She shrugged, watching as Luna snuck up on Tony – who hated the cat. “I see the future. I may as well look the part.”

An unmanly yelp escaped his lips as Luna jumped onto the counter, next to where Tony’s hands were neatly folded as he waited for you to prepare the tea. “Fucking cat! I swear, she hates me!”

“Hey, you’re in her house, remember?” She reminded him, pouring the tea into two glasses and sliding him his own, watching the steam rise from the small cups.

He hummed in response, side-eyeing Luna before taking a sniff of the tea, “Chamomile? That vision must’ve been bad.”

“It was.” She breathed in the comforting smell, adjusting the neckline of her dress and leaning over to scratch Luna behind the ears. “I’m okay, now, though.”

Liar.

Four Months…

It was like the weather knew something was going to happen. It was December and there was no snow. There was only wet, like the sky was weeping for it’s last moments. The rotting leaves left behind a pleasant scent, but it was only a reminder of time passed.

Some of Y/n’s decorations remained, for aesthetic, but her beautiful Victorian styled home was aesthetic enough. She looked like a witch, or psychic, which didn’t bother her in the least. She enjoyed the double-take that the neighbors or tourists would do as they walked by. She enjoyed the comforting sounds of the home, and the character that came with it.

Of course, she’d made sure to immediately cleanse the house.

She wasn’t stupid.

The snow was on its way, she could smell the crispness in the air, but she was trying to hold on to time as long as she could.

It was as if the more time passed, the more her vision revealed itself.

She was walking to the mailbox with Luna, who strolled over the wet sidewalk beside her, glancing at the wet leaves like they’d inconvenienced her walk in some way.

“They’re just leaves.” Y/n muttered to herself, rolling her eyes as she sifted through the mail next to the old box. “You… You…”

She heard Luna complain loudly as she slipped into a trance, the scene around her fading into one not of her world.

There was no clues as to which planet she was currently looking at, but it was… destroyed. Completely destroyed. Ruins littered the landscape, the gravity felt different, and… the smell.

It smelled like ash.

There were sounds of commotion this time, like there was a fight happening a short distance from where she was standing.

Turning around, she saw the same creature that resembled a man from the first vision. He wasn’t as… broken… as the first time she’d seen him. This must be before.

He was… holy mother of god he was fighting with Tony.

She watched as the nano-tech in Tony’s suit morphed his arm into a giant sword, swinging it in the direction of the creature, striking to kill.

The creature barely looked phased, as he broke it off easily, like snapping a cracker, and jabbed the sword forwards…

…right into Tony’s side.

Tony’s pained, wavering grunt was loud in the silence that followed, as the creature continued forwards. Tony stumbled backwards for a few steps, pain clouding his eyes, before finally falling backwards into a sit against some of the rubble.

She could see the blood leaking from the wound, and tried desperately to move to help, but her attempts were futile…

The mail slipped from her fingers, dropping to the wet pavement as a scream tore from her lips, bringing her back to the present as the first few flakes of snow began their descent from the sky – reminding her of ash.

The sounds of her neighbors grew louder as her screams turned to sobs, the heartbreak of loss crushing her to the ground as her knees gave out – scraping against the wet pavement and tearing at her skin.

Tony wasn’t going to make it…

Two months…

There had to be something she could do.

Anything.

What she saw… she couldn’t let that happen.

The madness was beginning to set in. She’d been in the hospital for three days, due to a hysterical breakdown in the middle of work. The visions were getting worse. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a new component of The End, and she couldn’t take it. It was too much loss.

Everyone she loved was going to fade away.

There needed to be something she could change.

There had to be some key decision that would change everything.

There had to be… there had to be…

One month…

Things were getting better.

Y/n was no longer in the hospital. It was easier to hide the pain, the loss the heartbreak… She’d accepted it… because she knew she was going to die.

She’d seen it, and she’d never been wrong.

She was watching herself standing in the woods. There’d been a fight there, recently, but there was no sounds to indicate that it was still happening. The only evidence of a fight was the broken trees, the smell of smoke, and the sight of a few of Tony’s teammates… In fact, there were no sounds at all. Just the whisper in the air of bad things to come, like fate was trying to quietly warn whoever was listening that The End was here.

Thor was standing near her, a look of horror and confusion pulled his eyebrows together, his mouth agape. He was staring at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at her own hands, a mixture of sadness and relief lining her face as she watched the color of her skin fade away to nothing, blowing into ash and mixing with the light breeze. It spread up her arms like a paper that caught fire, leaving her limbs to fade into nothing as she looked back up to Thor with a sad smile on her face, before the rest of her dissipated into ash.

“I tried…”

Two weeks…

Tony proposed.

He fucking proposed.

They’d been on a small stroll in an empty park, Luna trailing slowly behind as she tried to hunt the small critters that had come out of hibernation from the winter – finally able to enjoy the spring weather. Their fingers were laced together as they enjoyed the warm weather, finally able to get some fresh air after being cooped up all winter.

Well… Tony enjoyed the weather.

The nice weather was just a cruel reminder to Y/n that their time together was coming to an end, and she had no idea how to stop it.

“You know, I know you live for the aesthetic and everything, dear, but… It’s spring, now. You can wear colors.” He teased, reaching up and giving her short sleeve a slight tug. “Also, why does the creature need to follow us? She makes me nervous.”

Luna yowled at him in response as Y/n looked down at her outfit. She was wearing the same lacey, black, short sleeved dress with a keyhole neckline. The same outfit as Halloween. Even down to the opaque black tights and high-heeled booties.

It left an unsettled feeling in her gut.

“Luna needs exercise, too, Tony.” Y/n responded, shaking it off as the cat trotted towards her and kept pace with the couple. “Especially if you keep trying to bribe her into liking you.”

“She literally left a dead mouse in my shoe.” He scoffed, turning to glare at the unbothered cat. “She hates me.”

“She was leaving you a gift.” She shrugged, giving Luna a sly smile before leaning her head against Tony’s shoulder as they walked. “At least it wasn’t on your pillow.”

“No, just in my two thousand dollar Tom Ford Oxfords.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t buy such expensive shoes.” Y/n giggled, spinning around so she was standing in front of him and pressing a small, chaste kiss against his warm lips. “Luna doesn’t care about material items. She just likes it when you scratch her ears.”

“Tell that to the dozens of claw marks on my hands.” He replied with a snort, wrapping his arms around her waist and caressing his lips against her forehead. “I miss this.”

“Miss what?” She laid her head against his shoulder, fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Disagreeing about Luna?”

“Being with you.” He murmured, turning his head to lay his scratchy cheek against her forehead. “I wanna’ be with you forever.”

She closed her eyes, heartbreak piercing her chest as the replay of her vision of his death played behind her eyelids. She desperately wanted to tell him about her visions, but… she was terrified that he’d become reckless or not fight with everything he had, if he knew he was going to die. There was no way to prevent his death, but she would make sure that he enjoyed the last moments they had together. She’d rather take that secret to the grave than let him feel any ounce of pain that she felt.

“I love you.” She whispered, willing the tears back as she sagged against him. “I will always love you.”

“Marry me.” He replied suddenly, shifting around and sliding his hands up to cup her face. “I’ve loved you for so long… You’ve been one of my best friends since we were squirts, and I know I don’t deserve you after what happened… and I know that I haven’t been the best at showing you I love you… and I know that we haven’t been exclusive for that long but-”

She cut off his rambling, arms sliding around his neck as she shoved her lips against his moving ones, forcing him into silence as she threw as much of her love as she could into that kiss. She’d loved him since she was young, too. She’d been so patient for him, knowing they’d eventually be together even as he was dating, sleeping around, and gaining his reputation as a playboy. She tried to think about the first kiss they’d shared as teenagers, trying to convey as much emotion as she could to convince him that she loved him. Which had only grown as they grew older.

She just wished they’d be able to grow old together…

The tears that she’d been holding back slid down her face, and she could taste the salt as she slowly pulled back, pressing her forehead against his. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He laughed, excitement laced through his voice. “You mean it?”

She nodded, throat closing as she tried to conceal her heartbreak with excitement. The tears wouldn’t stop, and eventually a sob escaped her throat as she buried herself into his neck – hoping he would think that it was just her being emotional about the engagement.

It was better than knowing the truth…

Three days…

Drinking was a bad idea.

Why she decided to drown her sorrows was beyond her, but she was spiraling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw someone else fade to dust. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw fire. She saw panic.

She saw him.

She knew his name, now.

Thanos.

His agenda wasn’t clear, as her visions only came with flashes, and weren’t always in order… but she knew enough to know that whatever it was, he was going to win. He was going to get what he wanted. He was going to kill to get it.

He was going to kill the ones she loved.

Her last vision had sent her over the edge.

Luna…

She took another swig of her wine, in the middle of completely trashing her greenhouse. Not that she was going to need it, anyways. She’s going to die. Why the hell not? Dirt and plant remains were tossed carelessly to the ground, the tomatoes that she’d grown to hate squishing beneath her shoes as she chucked another clay pot against the wall – shattering it from the sheer force of the throw.

Her music was on as high as she could stand it, the intensity of the heavy metal encouraging her to scream out her rage as she tossed shit around the room.

The only thing untouched was the doll that contained her grandmother’s ashes. The little pumpkin head silently judging her – as usual – as she downed the rest of the wine, throwing the bottle against the wall to add to the piles of shattered items and destroyed hard work.

“Stop- Stop fucking judging me, grandma!” She slurred, screaming at the doll as the room spun around her. “You told me I couldn’t mess with it! You did! Now, look! Now… Everyone! Everyone! They’re all- They’re all going to be gone!”

The doll just stared back.

Two days…

“Bruce?” Tony broke away from you, where you were standing in the park after being interrupted during your run.

“Hi, Tony.”

Two Days…

“Please tell me you’re not in the ship, Tony…” Y/n swallowed thickly, her worst fears beginning to come true. “Please…”

“I can’t tell you that, sweetheart.” He began to cut out, as she fell to her knees clutching the phone to her ear desperately. “I’m sorry.”

One day…

“I have to change it.” She muttered to herself, walking onto the ship to Wakanda with Bruce and the other members of the team. “I’m going to change it.”

One hour…

AIM FOR THE HEAD.

One minute…

She ran through the woods, having broke away from the fighting and sneaking out of Shuri’s lab. She knew what she had to do. She knew what needed to be done.

“THOR!” She screamed, as she happened upon the fighting and mayhem, gasping for breath, “AIM FOR THE-”

“You should have aimed for the head.”

“No!”

She was too late.

He snapped.

The end…

--------------------------

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cosmiquartle · 3 years

Text

My grandma don’t like you.

Roses are black and cabbage is red,

Dyed in my borscht, think your up next.

Tricked or treats

nah

just pickled beets ,

I’d rather live solely

off my babusckas stew

Not fast and hollow

eve with you.

Y I even pick up this cancerous phone

Shit more sincerity in the dial tone

Got my soaps beat

More lye than glycerin in your speech.

ibombed and bagged head.

In my bath just past half dead

Shabbats with Safta, but Sunday Nanas got me fed.

Maybe she don’t make borscht, Italians don’t know a things about beet stew, almost as little as I know about you.

Man my grandma could crush like the garlic when she makes that fire Ragu.

I missed you when I saw her boil the spaghetti cause the heat rose and they fell like u do,

almost as fast as me

when I hit the fetty.

Don’t be mad at the poem

Shit at least it’s about you,

Just remember if I ever call you fag it’s only cause I’m one too.

It’s a fucking fairy fag and fuckhead fucking fent zoo

Maybe you don’t get it, at least I do.

My grandma don’t like you

Too bad you prove her right when I try to defend you like a fool.

I’ll hit you up sometime, like next time I’m building an empire and I need a tool.

Look boy my grandma really can’t forgive you and she even pardoned r Kelly

Maybe that can help you understand why I wanna give you a chance

But she just won’t let me

So that’s the final take

Like be gone for five days

At Freddie’s barely a wake.

Don’t try to get ahold of me just to debate

0 notes

quizblr · 7 years

Text

MBTI: What Flavor of Soap are You?

INFP: Special order soap. It tastes like bug spray and menthol. This soap was made for certain purposes; being eaten was not one of them. You congratulate yourself on being such a rebel as you begin to see the lights. 8/10

ENFP: Children’s soap. It smells and tastes exotic, but you’re not completely sure what it’s supposed to be. The happy koala on the bottle isn’t much of a clue. It’s a bit astringent. It burns as you swallow. You’re glad your tongue is clean, though. You hiccup, and a bubble leaves your mouth. 5/10

INFJ: Dishwasher soap. Stronger than its cousin, dish soap, but significantly more likely to kill you. It leaves a soft white powder residue on the burns it creates on your tongue. This is somehow your aesthetic. It tastes like a chemical burn and a Tumblr moodboard. You’re pleased. 10/10

ENFJ: Dish soap. It smells like what someone who has never seen a real, whole coconut before would imagine that coconut to smell like. It’s a bit slimy. No matter how much you heave, you can’t seem to get the residue off of your tongue. It begins to sting. 4/10

ISFP: Hotel soap. Completely horrible. No matter what you do, you can’t get the taste out of your mouth afterwards. You look at the crumpled wrapper on your borrowed bathroom counter. You can’t decide if it’s brown or gray. It was complimentary, so you really have nothing to complain about, you remind yourself. There are bubbles in the cracks between your teeth. You hope this will trick your dentist into thinking you actually flossed tomorrow. It does. You feel triumphant as he scrapes the oily residue off of your incisors, perplexed. You’ll never tell. 9/10

ESFP: Handmade soap. You smushed some stuff around in a bucket, and this is the resultant creation. It tastes like oil-flavored toothpaste. The ingredients you bought off of eBay probably weren’t poisonous. You’re not sure how to get the stuff out of this bucket and into a usable container. It will have to do – you decide this is probably more rustic anyway. As one hand shoves another chunk into your mouth, the other increases the price of your soap tenfold on your Etsy store. You smile in the dark, the light from your computer giving your soapy teeth a pallid glow. Multicolored spots begin to dance in your eyes. You take another bite. 7/10

ISFJ: Microbead soap. Tastes like a ruined environment and clogged waterways. You’re not sure if fish are capable of feeling sad. The beads scrape and scratch at your gums as you swish before you swallow. You feel them peel away every unnecessary dead cell in your mouth. You look into the empty bottle, wishing there was more. You open another. Your head begins to vibrate as your stomach begins to twist. You comfort yourself with the knowledge that your blood will finally be clean. 6/10

ESFJ: Bar soap. The original. The classic. It tastes like your childhood – at least the parts when your mother caught you when you swore. Nutty aftertaste with mild notes at the beginning, but now that you’ve finished chewing, it just tastes like soap. You remember why you hated it. You spit it out. You wonder if you’ll go blind. 5/10

ISTP: Hand soap. Perfumey and bland. It eases down your throat as you slurp from the opened bottle. You wonder if it has been watered down. You wonder whose soap this is. You wonder how you ended up in this bathroom, in this house. Your stomach begins to quelch as you stagger outside. You lurch towards the next house, wondering if the soap in another bathroom will taste any different - if it will have answers. It won’t. 3/10

ESTP: Shampoo. Creamy and metallic. It goes down smoothly as you chug from the aesthetically-molded plastic bottle. You hurry. When it’s empty, you quietly slip from this shower, from this house. You move through the night towards the house next door. Maybe their selection will finally satiate you. You will never be full. 9/10

ISTJ: Expensive department store soap. Salty and vaguely acrid. It tastes like licking a grandma. There’s a hint of alcohol – probably the perfumes. You look around your dimly-lit bathroom as you sit on the edge of your tub and feel dead inside. You look at the delicate lettering on the elegant packaging and feel alive. You take another bite. It flakes into beige icing between your teeth. 6/10

ESTJ: Laundry soap. It smells absolutely fantastic, but is so concentrated that you end up in the emergency room. It tastes like deception and suds. Tiny bubbles line your lips. You realize you forgot to start the dryer before the ambulance came. You can no longer tell if it’s the soap or you that’s foaming. It’s soft. You wonder if you’re finally clean as you begin to fade. 2/10

INTJ: Novelty soap. The fragrance of this bar is particularly powerful. The smell is so strong that your brain is tricked into thinking it’s the flavor as well; this prevents you from noticing your discomfort as it slowly erodes away at your lips. You stare at the box, trying to decide if Blue Strawberry Bonanza is a typo. You’re not sure. The prize inside lends extra crunch, but you’re spitting bubbles for an hour afterwards. This is the worst $27 you have ever spent. 7/10

ENTJ: Straight lye. It hurts. At a pH of 13, it’s obviously very efficient – but it will wash you away as well as the grime. It burns. At least you didn’t waste your money on one of those useless scented soaps. Now it hurts AND burns. You reassure yourself with your pragmatism as you begin to die. It tastes like blood. 0/10

INTP: Holiday soap. Special, fragrant, and full of glitter. It tastes horrible when consumed, yet this is your fifth sip. You take your sixth. You look at the leering gingerbread man on the peeling sticker and don’t understand why he can’t taste the way he looks just this once. You decide to give him another chance. It doesn’t work. He tastes the same. 2/10

ENTP: Car wash soap. You’ve never felt so alive, so powerful. The industrial foam fills your mouth, your throat, your lungs. It tastes like wax and fire. This is what it means to be an extrovert. The suds drip from your eyelashes just long enough for you to see the brushes heading towards you. They’re coming. You’re not afraid. They said that you shouldn’t, that you couldn’t. You raise your fists above your head and push out a gurgled scream. You’ll show them. 1/10

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