#and most of the other half is southern Baptist

[queenqunari]

Are you ever talking to someone and you casually sprinkle in a fact about something that happened while you were growing up and they say “yeah that makes sense for you” and you take psychic damage?

Like yeah I guess every part of my childhood impacted who I am today, but like, you didn’t have to say it

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

���Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

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[mikkeneko]

I decided to make this its own post for two reasons: one, I didn't want to derail a post that is about Judaism with a discussion of a different faith and two, it was really only one of several posts I've seen recently that stuck out to me as being "man, this is way off-base."

This is not so much about "people are saying mean things about this religion and it hurts my feelings!" but it is definitely about "people are making statements that represent a wildly skewed and inaccurate picture of the reality, and I can't tell whether they're being hyperbolic on purpose or think they're genuinely telling the truth." This is not a question of whether any given church is good or bad; this is a question of whether there is or can be a distinct entity that serves as a single unified church or faith in American Christian tradition (spoiler: No.)

Here's the basic message: Any discussion of "the Christian god" or "the Christian faith" or "American Christianity" needs to be taken with a big honking asterisk that there is no single portrayal of God, or Christianity, or spirituality and faith that conveys accurate information about the entire breadth of American Christianity.

There is no single American Christian Church. None. The single biggest branch of American Christianity, Southern Evangelical Baptist, makes up at its broadest 30% of all American Christians (12% of the overall population.) The rest are split between Catholic, Methodist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Lutheran, Pentecostal, Adventist, Congregationalist, and a dozen other even tinier branches, before you even get into the more far-out variants that people have ongoing arguments as to whether they even really count as "Christian." (LDS, Unitarians, and possibly Mennonites fall into this category.) Most of the major branches share a lot of common ground, but there's an enormous amount of variation -- they disagree widely on concepts such as the existence or nonexistence of Hell; the mechanics of conversion or salvation; the requirements of baptism or confirmation; whether prostylezation is required, encouraged or even permitted; what kind of sexualities are or are not accepted; God as an active or non-active role in the world; how 'sin' works or if it's even a thing; the existence or not of saints; the divinity or not of Christ; or even the idea of an anthropomorphic God at all. Some are progressive, some are fundamentalist, some are fundamentalist in ways that are completely at odds with the popular perception of what those fundaments are. I personally know one Methodist pastor who also believes and teaches about God as a "oneness of the universe" and have met others who conceive of God as "that which spans the space between the limits of our understanding and the limits of our universe." You cannot categorically state that all American Christians share a common notion on any of these topics.

Other statements I've seen recently that just made me go "what? no?"

That the USA was founded by religious extremists and That's Why America is Like That. Only one or two of the original settlements were founded for this purpose. Some were founded with an explicit purpose of total freedom of (or from) religion; others were entrepreneurial ventures with nothing to say on the topic of religion at all. When the guiding documents of the American state were put together the clause of freedom of religion was included front and center precisely because they didn't want religious extremists to be steering the ship.

That the majority of USAmericans are in cults and don't even realize they're in cults. This requires both an extremely broad definition of “cult” (to encompass pretty much any branch of Christianity, not only the more extremely evangelical ones) and severely over-estimates how many people in the US are practicing Christians (less than half.)

That the "Christian God" is intended to function as a "Great Uniter" into which other faiths can be folded; This is not a Protestant thing. Most Protestant faiths are not syncretic to the degree Catholicism is (or at all,) since there wasn't a motivating political entity backing their creeds to make them so. Again: Not all branches of American Protestantism require, encourage, or even permit prostylezation.

On that note: Not all Christians are Catholic. This isn't news, right? People know this, right? This is one of those things that I always assumed was very common knowledge, and was very surprised to run into people who were not aware of this (who either think that all Christians or Catholic, or else that Catholics are not Christian at all, depending on which side of the equation they're approaching from.) Protestant and Catholic Christianity are very very distinct entities both spiritually and politically, and in the USA, Catholic Christianity is a minority religion and is mostly (though not exclusively) practiced in minority demographic communities. Of 46 presidents so far only one has been Catholic, and a lot of the opposition to JFK's appointment was people being suspicious of his Catholicism since it was thought that his loyalty to the Church might supersede his loyalty to the US. American Christianity is mostly Protestant, not Catholic, and Protestant Christianity does not function at all the way Catholicism does. We had a whole Reformation about this. Any take that refers to "The Church" in America as a single united entity that dictates theology to its outreaching branches is... off-base.

What certainly is true is that a number of individual churches in the US have organized around the aim of consolidating social and political power, have worked at advancing their members to positions of power in order to protect and promote their interests, and thus are over-represented and have outsized influence on the political sphere. The ones that do this, as well as the ones that put emphasis on proselytizing and on money-making, tend to self-select for being the most visible and infamous because their business model is expansive by nature. That's certainly the case for the SEB in the American South, or the LDS in Utah. I really get the feeling when people use these broad terms that they are thinking either of the SEB (again, not even a majority among American Protestants!) or of the Catholic church (even less so!)  But not only do not all Americans agree with those beliefs, they don't even agree with each other.

[fandomination666-blog]

As someone who lives in Texas (unfortunately) I find it SO FUNNY when people make keith overwhelmingly southern. Like, cmon yall. Texas history 101, the cowboy era ended a long ass time ago, most of us DONT wear cowboy hats anymore. Why the fuck would keith ride a horse???? Nobody does that unless they own horses??? And horses are incredibly expensive???

Like, I understand cowboy aus, and historical aus, but if Texas, in 2024, isn't like that (the stereotypes are so wild) then why would it be like that in approx 2314?

Very few wear cowboy hats or boots. Very few have horses, and NOBODY rides them to school, ffs. Keith is not a farmhand.

Some texas stereotypes that are true, however...

-yeah we say yall nonstop

-ain't, wouldja, couldn't've, etc.

-confederate flag is less common here, normally you see the "come and take it" or the "don't tread on me"

-if keith ever went to public school, 1/3 of his classmates or more are Latino

-most Texans know moderate amounts of Spanish

-we celebrate Cinco de Mayo, and most ppl think it's Mexican independence day (it's not)

-barbecue.

-chili WITHOUT BEANS YOU HEATHEN

-will fight over food, family, or football

-either you support the Dallas Cowboys or the Houston Texans. Any other team is sacrilege. Once you make this choice, it WILL have effects on your social life.

-football is basically king here lol, none of the other stuff in school gets nearly the funding

-people living in rural areas (like Keith's dad) often own guns, and not pistols either-- rifles and shotguns, usually

-NOBODY SAYS YEEHAW. at least not unironically

-Texans will ironically say yeehaw, rootin-tootin, etc bc we are aware of our history and think it's wack

-were not all racist, but everyone knows at least one person who is (usually an older family member)

-mind your gotdamn manners at the table. Get those elbows away from your food

-sir and ma'am for strangers

-open doors for old people. You don't have to be a man to do this.

-please and thank you is SO important, people will assume things about you otherwise

-if you don't have a church, you miss out on a lot of community (coming from a non-religious person)

-most people here are Baptist, on that note (Hispanic people contribute to the Catholic population, but still, Baptist is #1)

-internet service is awful unless you're in a city

-we WILL close all schools for 2 inches of snow/ice

-we laugh at hurricanes, and then do our best to help our Houston neighbors

-but everybody hates Houston and Dallas, unless you live there

-most people are okay with Austin, San Antonio, etc

-EL PASO IS TINY, AND HALF OF IT IS IN MEXICO (and is called Ciudad Juárez there)

-beer is god. And God has no problem with drinking. (According to beliefs here)

-gambling is illegal here, but we love it, so states like Oklahoma have built casinos RIGHT ON THE STATE BORDER so that we can drive a bit and gamble as we please

-everybody's dad drives a truck. Otherwise people assume he's got a small pp

[cr1mson5returns]

I fell down a sudden and spiky rabbit hole wondering where exactly in my home state of Kansas the fictional town of Smallville is supposed to be. I checked the DC Wiki for comic book information and got nothing. Kinda pissed me off, because I didn't want to have to randomly assign a plot of land to Smallville. But when I checked the Smallville Wiki (TV series Smallville, that is), I found out that the show gave it the zip code which corresponds to Chase, KS. Chase is in Rice County, which is a few hours west of Wichita on the highways, putting it pretty solidly in South Central Kansas.

And guys.....as a bitch who was born and raised in South Central Kansas, you have to know that we're some characters out here. I can't speak for Rice County, never lived there, but there's this hilarious smattering of accents scattered about the south central part of the state. Some people have that flat Midwestern/Wichita way of speaking, where you can almost pretend they're not Midwestern if they didn't unironically say "lemme just squeeze by ya" so much. But other people have that Rural Kansas drawl that isn't quite as Southern as you can hear the closer you get to the Ozarks, and despite that you'd still be able to pick them out in a crowded room because they sound a touch out of place amongst everybody else. They say "color" like "collar" and talk about "y'all down on Green Street" and they warsh their clothes while they're drawling some pictures. And that's just the way we talk, don't even get me started on the very rigidly Baptist morality and the tense feelings about whether we should even root for the Kansas City Chiefs since they're Missouri's team, anyway.

Armed with this knowledge and context, I present to all of you: Clark Kent who hauled hay in severe thunderstorm warnings as a teenager because fuck, it had to get done somehow and half the time the National Weather Service was just being cautious. Clark who learned to drive at age 12 on the farm and the county sheriff saw fit not to ticket him when he was 14 and took Pa's truck into town to pick up some last-minute ingredients for a birthday cake at the store. Clark who went to Wichita State for a journalism degree and thought Wichita was a big city and complained about the stupid ass layout of the streets between clearly historic districts and newer developments. Clark who got on a domestic flight at Eisenhower Intercontinental Airport and took off for Metropolis intent on getting out of Bumfuck Nowhere. Clark who comes back to Smallville when it's all too much because the city's great, and Lois and Jimmy and everyone else are just as great, but Kansas has the most beautiful full moon nights and not as much light pollution on the horizon, and he can fly through the Flint Hills and pretend he's a kid again and things aren't so noisy and weird and terrifying.

[penguinlover27]

This is marvelous news. As someone who suffered greatly from the abuses heaped upon me by members of this horrible denomination, their end cannot come soon enough.

You will never meet anyone more nasty, more judgmental, more hateful and less “Christian“ than a Southern Baptist.

The fact that this and most other churches are dying is nothing but good news for this country. The sooner that we can abandon absurd beliefs based on lies, the better.

[rostekhorn]

"but we need to go to Ethiopia (one of the oldest christian countries in the world) to make them the right kind of christian!"

This always pissed me off.

I attended an evangelical missionary church for a little while in college (which was how I discovered, and noped out of, Christian fundamentalism). I never met a single "convert" there who had actually converted from another religion to Christianity. All of them were either coming in from a different denomination, or at most, lapsed or cultural Christians who wasted a perfectly good mid-life crisis by turning towards Jerry Falwell. The map on their church wall with all the countries where they had missionary activities was all South America, the Philippines, parts of Africa (not so much the northern ones), and of course Russia which takes on a whole other context these days. But places like China or the Middle East were just a giant blank spot on the map. They'd tell you exciting bullshit about how one of their missionaries had totally managed to convert the head of the secret police in some Islamic republic or other, but their own map showed they had nobody there.

I don't particularly want to convert the unbelievers and didn't even at the time, but even if I did, that's not what modern missionary work is about. Missionary work is about cannibalizing existing forms of Christianity and uniformizing them into a modern right-wing straightjacket until every church in the world has the same politics, the same priorities, the same cultural markers, the same ideological reference points, as a white Southern Baptist megachurch in the Texas panhandle. It's the exact equivalent of what Saudi money has been trying to do to Islam for the last half century, and just like the Saudis, these people's work comes with a big body count.

still thinking about "decolonising" missionary work.

the way you decolonise missionary work is by not doing missionary work

the way you decolonise missionaries is like this:

[howaboutcastiel]

More find a new way word sludge

Xi’an is obviously played by a Spanish British lady in canon. I don’t see her as Natalia Tena (no offense to the legend herself) but for Find A New Way I see her more as Erin Kellyman (Karli Morganthau from TFATWS). That’s why I wrote her appearance the way I did.

I have a whole bunch of reasons for this that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things? But Xi’an in my head is a black woman with type 3 albinism, who is treated differently because of it, and unlike Din, became a narcissist as a result of the discriminatory/abusive treatment. She’s extremely ambitious and aggressive, and the covert paired the two of them for marriage because they are both ‘defective’ in the eyes of the Watch.

Whereas Din delved into his own research of the Creed, became the most knowledgeable and most faithful and eventually led to him realizing the place was corrupt and he needed to deconstruct, Xi’an became more of a Peacher’s Pet, and became more devoted the way the Watch specifically instructed.

Din learned the Creed better than anyone else in the Watch, and it made him realize that they’ve all lost The Way.

Xi’an takes the words of the Elders as gospel, rather than learning the scripture herself. She needs the acceptance and validation more than she needs the genuine faith.

In the end though, it didn’t matter. The Watch ultimately betrayed her by insisting modern medicine wasn’t “the way” and leading to her death and Grogu’s premature birth.

Obviously I wanted this to be a direct parallel to fundamentalist Christianity. That’s kind of been my whole thing, even though I wanted the Mandalorian religion to have other influence because I don’t think they are The Christians of the Star Wars universe. In my mind, the Way is an ancient Native American religion that was slowly corrupted over time by Christian influences in American culture.

The Way as it exists in 2006, for the Watch in particular, is a bastardization of the original culture and religion, warped by the nature of cultism to become abusive, restrictive, and to prioritize reproduction even at the expense of religious values (because more children means more believers means the religion will survive longer and spread wider).

Also, I just have a vendetta against fundamentalist Christian’s. Cobb’s family is more of the “I am a southern Baptist who gets blackout drunk on Friday and goes to church on Sunday.” And Din’s cult is legitimately fundamentalist, to the point where faith comes before health and safety. Cover yourself from head to toe. Don’t interact with the outside world.

My dad and his side of the family is like Cobb’s family. Just genuinely evil people who use God as an excuse to hate everyone and not take responsibility for their actions. My mothers side of the family leans more fundamentalist (of course not barring any of the racism, sexism, or homophobia of the former side either) and believes that women should be submissive and have as many children as possible as soon as possible, etc. no drinking, no premarital sex, no swearing. Read your Bible every day and do NOT watch R-rated movies or pursue post-graduate education.

BUT ANYWAY. This is a love story so at the end of the day, fuck both sides of the family. Din and Cobb are queer and in love and happy in spite of the people who wish that they weren’t.

And maybe a little bit spiteful. Just a little. Because those people deserve to be humbled.

So yeah. Grogu is half Honduran and half black, and he’s so malnourished and forcibly reclusive that the cops thought he was white. But he’s not white and cops are dumb and racist. And by god Grogu will be full of color and life and energy as soon as Din and Cobb get him back. Not that Omera isn’t doing her part to jump start his recovery.

Bases are covered, emotionally (religiously) and physically. But they are only covered in the form of word soup inside of my brain.

[tmarshconnors]

"There are a lot of Christians who are halfway fellows. They stand in the door, holding on to the Church with one hand while they play with the toys of the world with the other. They are in the doorway and we can't bring sinners in."

Mordecai Fowler Ham Jr., was an American Independent Baptist evangelist and temperance movement leader.

Born: 2 April 1877, Allen County, Kentucky, United States

Died: 1 November 1961, Louisville, Kentucky, United States

1)Revival Meetings: Mordecai Ham conducted numerous revival meetings throughout the United States, particularly in the Southern states, during the first half of the 20th century. These meetings were characterized by fervent preaching, emotional worship, and a focus on personal salvation.

2) Famous Convert: Billy Graham: One of the most notable aspects of Mordecai Ham's legacy is his influence on a young Billy Graham. In 1934, Billy Graham attended one of Ham's revival meetings in Charlotte, North Carolina, and made a commitment to Christianity during that event. This encounter played a pivotal role in shaping Graham's future as one of the most well-known Christian evangelists in the world.

3) Controversial Methods: Ham was known for using strong and controversial language during his sermons. His preaching style was passionate and sometimes fiery, which led to both acclaim and criticism. Despite the controversy, his charismatic approach drew large crowds to his revival meetings.

4) Educational Background: Mordecai Ham attended Wake Forest College (now Wake Forest University) in North Carolina. He initially aspired to become a lawyer but later felt a calling to Christian ministry, leading to his decision to become an evangelist.

5) Later Years: After several decades of active evangelism, Ham continued to be involved in ministry and preaching into his later years. He passed away in 1961. While he may not be as widely known as some other evangelists, his impact on individuals like Billy Graham and his contributions to the evangelical movement have left a lasting legacy.

[thescarlettbitch]

I work in customer service and I am very obviously alternative looking so I get things said about me and to me all the time (living and working in southern/Appalachian America)

Here are my favorites.

Old lady: do you know God?

Me: I have a very good relationship with my God.

Old lady: and who is your God?

Me: who is yours?

Old lady: my god is God

Me: you don't know your God's name?

-

Old man: Jesus loves you.

Me: ugh, I told him to stop calling me. You block a guy and suddenly he's sending random people to my work? Also his name is hey-sus (this is reserved for people being condescending and weird and if im in a chaotic mood. Usually i just say 'yea you too')

-

Old lady: have you accepted Jesus christ as your lord and savior?

Me: a long time ago. (Referring to when I was a child.)

‐

30yr old regular who is annoying: there's this page on Instagram I think you'd benefit from.

Me: ... what

30yr old: yea it's about how all the Bible stories are parabola's and not meant to be taken literally and they're just stories to influence morality.

Me: ... parables. Parables is the word you're looking for.

-

Old crazy regular: the Bible says Florida will be underwater when the rapture comes and look at all the hurricanes. It's coming.

Me: Florida didn't exist when the Bible was written. Or when it was translated into English.

Old crazy regular: you didn't read the Bible

Me: yes I have. Many times. Have you?

-

30yr old regular (again, on a different day): are you religious?

Me: ... no

30yr old: do you ever think about the universe?

Me: ... I think about science

Him: science is fake. You look like you'd believe in science.

Me: thank you?

-

Old lady: I'm being called to give this pamphlet on our church to you, young lady.

Me, loudly: no thanks, I don't do cults.

-

Old lady: are you... with God?

Me: my interpretation of God is different than yours.

-

Old lady: I'll pray for you, sweetie.

Me: I'll pray for you too. (Sometimes they take this as an insult, bc they mean it as an insult. Other times they take it as kindness, bc they mean it as kindness)

I feel like it's important to note that I live in a fairly rural yet high traffic area. I work right off the interstate just before the state border. I've seen menanites, Mormons, muslims, Jewish people, and most likely more come through. The only ones who ever try to push their religion on me is the white Christians. (And scientologists but whatever they don't count)

Goddamn MORMONS don't even bring up their religion to me half the time. I just see their name tag that has the lds church's name on it.

Anyway, if I'm talking to someone in a more appropriate context for theological discussions, I'll usually say "I was raised Baptist but I am pagan." If I'm on good terms with the person, if I know them well, and know that they're not going to "OMG SATANISM!!!"

If I don't know them that well and I fear for judgment, I'll say "I was raised Baptist but I don't really know what I believe."

And if I don't like the person/want to end the discussion I say I'm atheist.

Here’s a question for my fellow polytheists…how do you respond when “strangers” (or just people you haven’t vibe checked yet) ask you what your religion is?

I got asked this recently and I didn’t know how I wanted to respond so I lied and said I was an atheist lol. Was curious to hear if any brave souls without social anxiety had a good response for this

[antebellumite]

For the other half is the story of how slavery changed and moved and grew over time: Lorenzo Ivy's time, and that of his parents and grandparents. In the span of a single lifetime after the 1780s, the South grew from a narrow coastal strip of worn-out plantations to a subcontinental empire. Entrepreneurial enslavers moved more than 1 million enslaved people, by force, from the communities that survivors of the slave trade from Africa had built in the South and in the West to vast territories that were seized- also by force--from their Native American inhabitants. From 1783 at the end of the American Revolution to 1861, the number of slaves in the United States increased five times over, and all this expansion produced a powerful nation. For white enslavers were able to force enslaved African-American migrants to pick cotton faster and more efficiently than free people.

Their practices rapidly transformed the southern states into the dominant force in the global cotton market, and cotton was the world's most widely traded commodity at the time, as it was the key raw material during the first century of the industrial revolution. The returns from cotton monopoly powered the modernization of the rest of the American economy, and by the time of the Civil War, the United States had become the second nation to undergo large-scale industrialization. In fact, slavery's expansion shaped every crucial aspect of the economy and politics of the new nation not only increasing its power and size, but also, eventually, dividing US politics, differentiating regional identities and interests, and helping to make civil war possible.

--- Edward E. Baptist, The Half Has Never Been Told

[junebugwriter]

Bleak

In a weird headspace today. Prepare to get wonky and sweary about institutional church bullshit, woo!

The Annual Conference is this weekend in my home conference in Texas. I learned from one of my former mentors who posted on FB about the current class of ordinands, the people who are up to be ordained before the UMC this year. About 10 lay local pastors, 4 provisional commissioned (probationary) elders, 2 deacon ordinations, and 5 elder ordinations. That's a total of 7 full ordinations, and 21 people being celebrated.

I looked at those numbers, and only one word came to mind.

Bleak.

For reference, my commissioning took in four times that many commissionees, and at least double the ordinands. These are some dim prospects for the denomination I used to call home. I was in one of the country's largest, most powerful conferences. This conference ALSO happened to be ground fucking zero for the birth of the conservative schismatic group, the Global Methodist Church. We used to hold Annual Conference at the Woodland UMC, now just The Woodland Church. A lot--and by a lot, I'm talking a huge percentage-- of the incoming classes of pastors came from big churches like the Woodland Church, among others. Also funding. Also other kinds of resources. They have taken their ball and gone home, and I salute them, they can fuck all the way off honestly.

But! That does leave the UMC Conference in a bind. Effectively half--HALF-- of the churches in the conference disaffiliated this past year. The conference has shrunk by HALF. When I call it a "divorce," it's a FUCKING DIVORCE, y'all. We used to draw almost the bulk of our ordinands from Asbury Seminary in Kentucky, who also threw their lot in with the conservative GMC. All those ordinands, gone to their parallel conservative denomination.

Thus, it makes sense that the incoming class of loyal UMC ordinands is so anemic. Our biggest churches and our biggest seminary defected. That leaves the now largest contingent of ordinands coming from the historically more liberal/progressive schools of Perkins School of Theology and Duke Divinity, along with a smattering of other progressive mainline seminaries. Those schools tended to be more exclusive in their selection of prospective M. Divs. Those schools also don't have nearly the size of online schooling programs that Asbury had, nor were they as affordable.

So the expensive, exclusive seminaries are all that is left. Honestly, for just being through a divorce, those numbers are damn near miraculous. The Texas Conference practically built all of its prestige and power on the bases of its ties to Asbury and Woodland. With those gone, it is a shadow of its former self.

Like I said. Bleak.

And thank fucking God, because this is the wake-up call that the conference needs.

For too long, it floated on its inflated numbers, filled with people who were, let's face it, evangelicals in Methodist clothing. These were culturally conservative white people, only Methodist in name, who had more in common with the Southern Baptist Convention than the movement started by the Wesley Bros. I'm not going to play the no-true-Methodist game too much, but seriously, this divorce was long overdue, because it was un-fucking-tenable. These were people who sat around in open meetings talking about how they had to "take back" the church, and stand up for "traditional, orthodox beliefs." Chief among them, of course, is that we ought to treat LGBTQ+ folks as second-class citizens. We had been fighting them since the UMC's inception.

They finally left, along with all their people, their churches, and their money. Good fucking riddance.

I've long been of the opinion that the church has needed to die in order for something good to come out of Christianity. We are in need of a resurrection, and I mean that literally. I think the institution of the church is a desiccated skeleton of itself. There needs to be an actual fucking reckoning in the church with what it believes, how it acts, and how it composes itself. It is my honest belief that the UMC ought to destroy its Book of Discipline, it's governing rulebook, and start over from scratch.

If it's going to do anything good for the future, if it's going to actually foster real community and solidarity with marginalized people. It needs to become a full-throated partner with LGBTQ+ folks who have been left out of the church. They need to repent of the harm they have caused, and step forward into the future, and the future is queer as fuck.

So is it a bit sad that there are so few ordinands? Yeah, a little. But it's a start. I hope the church gets it's shit together, and learns it's lesson. It's better to be small and loving, than big and bigoted. It's better to be meek and to stand with the oppressed, than to be rich and assimilate with the empire.

[angry-unicorn]

My Body is  a Temple

Body modification is a common practice in the United States as well as other parts of the world. What most people don't realize is the backlash that came come with it. Body modification is defined as altering of the human anatomy. Changing anything about your body is a modification, similar to adding a turbo to your car.  83% of the earth's population has their ear lobes pierced. Yet getting any piercings in your face or getting a tattoo is still taboo to a large number of people.  Most major cities like New York or Charlotte, North Carolina have a very diverse population. People are exposed to more ideas and different types of people. In smaller towns such as mine there is a lot of the same type of person.  The most common religion in my region is Southern Baptist or Methodist. Most individuals who comment on my body use the bible to defend their actions. The verse most commonly used is “Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the Lord.” from Leviticus 19:2. What most do not consider is the context of this verse. In its full context the marks of the dead and printing of marks are referring to what the bible considers Pagan rituals. My tattoos are not rooted in any rituals of any king, they are simply things I enjoy.  Another popular quote that has been used against my appearance is “ know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?” from 1 Corinthians 6:19. Most temples and places of worship I know are decorated with beautiful paintings and other art works, so if my body is a temple why would it be any different? I would also like to point out that the bible has only been around for 3,500 years, half the amount of time tattoos have been.  These same people also assume my faith. Being that I live in the same small town they do it is assumed I follow the same faith. Larger populations tend to have bigger varieties in religion. Religions that are much more lenient about tattoos including Judaism (Rabbis do differ on this opinion), Hinduism, and  Buddhism. Athiest also generally don't have a view on tattoos in a religious sense but may object in other ways. Many people in my life don't follow a religion at all. In addition to the bible quotes some people are just rude. I am often asked how will they look when I grow old. Some people ask me if I enjoy being hurt or being in pain. I have received more mistreatment from non tattooed people than those who have them.  Many employers also require them to be covered as they can be seen as unprofessional. Careers that involve working with the public may ask you to wear long sleeves or cover with make up. Jewelry and piercings are usually a safety issue and are more than fair to restrict. I have had customers ask to be helped by some one else assuming I could not assist them far more often where I live now. The assumption is also more aimed at women who are tattooed. I have had many tattooed male coworkers treated far more respectfully because tattoos are not considered feminine or lady like. At the end of the day we are entitled to do what ever we want with our bodies despite the opinions of other. It does make life harder when those opinions are false. My appearance doesn’t define my work either or who I am as a person.

[farmgirlwriter]

Evangelical church experience

There are a number of messages contained in this memoir as the author shares her experiences when she leaves the family farm against her parents’ wishes. Her journey into independence is full of entanglements with parents and siblings, co-workers and friends. Our services - Non-fiction, Farming, The farming life, Life on a Farm, Family, Minnesota, Pets, Country experience, Life events, Growing older, Church fellowship, Betrayal, Estrangement, Rejection, Faith crisis, Calvinism, Authoritarianism, Complementarianism, Covenants, Minnesota, Family life, Marriage, Human experience, The Will, Inheriting the farm, Evangelical church experience, Spiritual abuse.  Evangelical beliefs in the history has constantly acclimated into the world who were working. In fact it served by the people for social change. Awakenings of Puritan which passed in the seventeenth century emphasized particular experience of God while reading and writing development, literature, and wisdom trials. After the American Revolution, Evangelical Christian priests began to challenge the side of the senior in their interpretation of the Bible andencourage people to read the Bible and the Church for their own sake. Eventually, in the nineteenth century, Dwight. Moody, along with numerous other evangelists find innovative ways of doing, developed a view about the life of a religious

fundamentalist, which ate all people during a time when civic Protestantism isn't welcome by ordinary people. Among  all have told the Evangelical beliefs in the history has been the most important effect. Not only that strict control of Evangelical Christian in the twentieth century, but also percolated other religious tradition. Non-fiction, Farming, The farming life, Life on a Farm, Family, Minnesota, Pets, Country experience, Life events, Growing older, Church fellowship, Betrayal, Estrangement, Rejection, Faith crisis, Calvinism, Authoritarianism, Complementarianism, Covenants, Minnesota, Family life, Marriage, Human experience, The Will, Inheriting the farm, Evangelical church experience, Spiritual abuse. Visit here for More info- https://www.farmgirlwriter.com/

Evangelical beliefs are for the benefit of people.

How to be born again movement was created within the Southern Baptist Convention and numerous Wesleyans accepted fundamentalist interpretation of biblical inerrancy. After living with the nebulosity of 1920s and rise in the attractive movement in the 1960s, a small and important influence developed in American evangelicalism. In the alternate half of the twentieth century, Billy Graham, who has been the most prominent evangelical leader in ultramodern times has led a neo- fundamentalist movements. In this rise and fall tends to that interact for that change with no difference. This was the movement survived through adversity and acclimated to drink every man, but it seems that it'll remain exactly in the twentieth century as a new type of structure to take place. ultramodern interpretation of how to be born again is that it's always is in decline because of modernization. utmost people agree, fustiness leads to secularization and secularizationleads to religious incuriosity in certain circles. This belief is told by experience that history tutored us.

Christianity is substantially sermonized in churches. Christianity was formerly guidebook internal, spiritual, moral, and for life. Church used to play an important part in nearly all public issues. Secularization of the Christian faith has forced to contend with other worldviews important religiousand nonreligious. Analysis of the reanimationof U.S.bases is important to understand why this common belief is false and that, for times, religion has survived relatively well in a pluralistic terrain. Evangelical beliefs and strict uses in theU. Shave their way of relating to fustiness. ultramodern society has placed emphasis on making choices and individuality, and atthe same time, evangelicalism is a dominie particular religious experience and maintains strict independence, generally from thegovernment. However, evangelicals respond to further followers to register and produce institutions to If we contend on voluntarism.insure the development of a church in everyday life.

[megatowinghouston]

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Despite a recent drop in population growth, Houston, TX remains the fourth-highest populated city across the United States. As per the U.S. Census Bureau, Houston's population has grown by 17% in the last ten years.

Houston's population is largely made of residents from Hispanic/Latino communities. The Hispanic/Latino population of Texas has increased by almost 2 million people from 2010 until 2020. Hispanics accounted for 50% of Texas' growth in the last decade.

Houston is among the youngest population in the United States. The average age of people living in Houston is 33 years old.

Houston's population growth is largely driven by the influx of immigrants. The number of residents who are foreign-born in Houston is more than the native-born population. Hispanics comprised 15 percent of the population back in the year 1980. However, by the year 2020 Hispanics will make up about half of Texas's population.

Several major sports teams play in Houston which includes the Houston Texans, Houston Astros, Houston Rockets, Houston FC as well as Houston Dynamo. Houston Dynamo (MLS). The city is also home to a variety of collegiate athletic teams, including teams like the University of Houston Owls, Texas Southern Tigers, Rice University Owls, Texas Woman's University Owls, and the Houston Baptist University Owls.

One of the biggest sporting venues located in Houston is called the Toyota Center. The Toyota Center is a state-of-the-art facility that houses teams such as the Houston Rockets (NBA) and Houston Astros (MLB) and has a seating capacity of more than 19,500. It was also named the "most technologically advanced" by Sports Business Journal.

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[philtstone]

Prompts! Sarah/Bucky, “touching foreheads”

i have no idea with this is but i thought it was worth writing. also it 1) turned out much longer than intended and 2) is my weak attempt at a version of this prompt that caters to your interests because my original idea was a lot more romantique. part of this verse, naturally. also, meaning absolutely no disrespect, but the whole time i was writing this i kept hearing catherine as blanche from golden girls in my head. my deepest apologies to blanche. but maybe that'll add a little ambiance to your read of it. enjoy!

The St. Trinity's Shelter Drive is one of those church run events that seems to transcend religious affiliation. According to Cass and AJ's solemn explanations, it started up proper after the Blip and has never seen reason to stop. Bucky’s lived through enough historical crises to understand this. Today is his second time helping out, which speaks to how much this new life of his has become real in a way he still doesn’t always feel he deserves. But. The drive.

He's always good for the heavy lifting, no longer minds standing at the end of the snacks table with Mrs. Pedjrani and helping the kids choose their drinks, and thinks it's probably a decent setting in which to learn how to not feel frightened of himself.

It's good – plain good, in the most mundane possible sense of the word.

Sarah enters and exists in this space, and others like it, with the same kind of mundane obviousness. She's one of those people who does not have the time to run or organize anything but is involved in everything. He thinks at this point half the town would cry rapture and second coming if Sarah Wilson did not roll up to every other community event in her broken down RAM pickup with a bag of old clothes or a pot of creamy mac ready to be leant to the cause.

He’s come to learn that there are some routines in Sarah's life that will include him but not require him, so currently Bucky is respecting her space by devoting his attention to boxing cookware, even as she stands sort of nearby by the far other end of the long fold out table. She is marking garbage bags of childrens' clothes and humming politely at whatever Catherine Whitlaf is saying. They're far enough away that they haven’t deemed fit to notice him; most normal people would not be able to overhear them, and so any polite overtures to including him are irrelevant. Bucky doesn’t quite yet understand the politics of the Southern Baptist church drive -- he was raised Catholic, which doesn’t mean much outside his century-ago three month stint as a piss poor altar boy, one whole month more than Steve managed -- but he knows Catherine’s presence is just as routine as Sarah’s is, if entirely different in the same breath. People expect her and her beautiful ceramic casserole dish and large private donation to be here.

At present, Sarah seems perfectly content barely acknowledging her. He’s spent time in the general proximity of senators’ wives (usually in the hours before something terrible happened to the senator) so Catherine’s persona is a clumsy thing in comparison. She doesn’t have the breeding to bat in the true big leagues. But there also isn’t really anything about her appearance that can be observed and identified as obviously obnoxious, which Cass complained about to him in a whisper once at the school Christmas show; at least her husband has that silly receding hairline of his. Sarah makes fun of it every time Ken tries to bully her out of another contract and then immediately tells the boys in no uncertain terms that they are not to insult folks as a habit.

Now, Bucky inspects a blue Teflon pan that matches Sarah’s blouse for scratches and listens to Catherine’s Southern twang.

"-- keep tellin' Ken, you know, how he ought to cut down on his hours. But we've just sold a large chunk of the business down river and there are so many opportunities to think of -- honey, do you want some of this tupperware for the kids? I know it must be tiring cooking in the evenings ..."

Sarah says that the Whitlafs are the sort of people who do not deem their Whiteness reason to feel entitled but are not entitled in a way entirely devoid of Whiteness. Whatever small concession this makes for their character does not change the fact that Bucky doesn't like them. Nor that Sarah knows fine well he does not like them, and accepts it the way he in turn accepts her way of dealing with them. Privately, he's convinced that it would do them both good to get a little roughed up -- nothing harmful, maybe just enough to self-reflect – which was a thought he had just about the first time he met them. Sarah must have seen something in his expression, because before any words came out she poked him hard in the chest and said, "no Man Violence" with such thin-lipped fervor that Bucky's mouth clamped right back shut.

Sarah takes pride in her ability to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Ken Whitlaf like civil human beings. And usually, she does so with grace, and no true worry for repercussions. He’s seen her snoop through their warehouse with confidence and tell Ken in no uncertain terms to get off her property the last time he sidled 'round to negotiate her out of another source of income.

As though on cue, Sarah’s firm voice cuts through Catherine’s jabbering.

"Thank you, Cathy, but I like cooking for my family."

"But the timing, honey, you just got so much on your plate ..."

"Actually, things are just fine now."

Bucky focuses on writing POTS AND PANS in big block letters across the front of his box.

“Well I was just thinking the other day, wouldn’t it make it so much easier for you to sell? Not the whole thing, of course, but maybe a share or two – and we’re lookin’ to buy, I mean, Sarah, bless your heart you’ve always been independent, but surely those sweet boys of yours would benefit from having their mama around more. Marly tells me you were such a speller in school, but then didn’t I hear AJ is struggling?”

Bucky feels himself still. Catherine has a naturally loud voice that has risen in pitch just deliberately enough this last that heads have turned. They’re surrounded by people. Good people, to be sure, and people who know and love them, but Delacroix is a warm-hearted small town, not a utopia.

Eyes down, he waits for Sarah to put Cathy in her place in the same routine way she always does. Her smile appears after a just beat too long.

“AJ’s doing fine. Thank you for thinking of us, Catherine. I should – I’m gonna take these bags. John’s got the doors open.”

The afternoon being almost over, Sarah gets called on by multiple people to help wrap things up with her easy hand and expertise, so Bucky doesn’t get a minute alone with her for another hour. When he finds her, she’s by the water fountain, behind the gym, staring at something on her phone and chewing on her bottom lip. He slips in front of her in a few easy steps and gives her the kiss he’s been thinking about since nine a.m. that morning, licking gently into her mouth with easy languor he knows improves her mood before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.

Sarah smiles, instinctive, then falters.

“Hey,” Bucky says, intent on her expression, and waits for a response.

“Hi,” she says. She seems distracted. Enough that she doesn’t catch the quiet anger that’s been simmering under his skin all afternoon, at any rate. “Can you – could you take the boys home? They’re runnin’ on empty and I promised Marly I’d stick around and help with clean up, I always do so there’s a system … oh, Lord, and Catherine Whitlaf left her casserole dish. I’ll have to tell John –”

“I can drop it off,” Bucky says.

“What?” she blinks.

The problem, he thinks, is that he isn’t sure she’ll ever actually tell him. Complain, maybe, about the Whitlafs’ latest round of obnoxious propositioning. But there’s a fragility to her that means Catherine hit a real and still-live insecurity, one which he isn’t sure Sarah even knows how to admit.

“I’ll swing round. We need groceries, anyway, and they’re on the way, right? No problem.”

The smile she gives him is small and tired. He sighs, kisses her forehead, and goes to collect the boys.

The cul-de-sac where the Whitlafs live is well-manicured and in a neighbourhood where the houses are big but nice and close together, very different from home. AJ is asleep in the back, tired out from helping through the day and from the kids’ three games of basketball, but Cass sits up in the passenger seat and gives Bucky an incredulous look.

“This ain’t the grocery store,” he says, peering skeptically at the nice green lawn.

“Nope,” says Bucky, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Gotta drop something off. I’ll be two minutes, okay?”

“Can we get ice cream from the store?” Cass asks.

“We got ice cream at home.” Bucky picks up the casserole dish and considers the Whitlaf house, then Cass. “But yes. Two minutes. Keep the doors locked.”

Clearly, Cass seems to find this directive funny in such a fancy neighbourhood, because he lets out a snorting kind of giggle through his gapped teeth then grins at the promised treat. Bucky leaves him in the car with a wink and makes his way up to the front door.

The knocker is brassy and ornate. Bucky uses this instead of the doorbell. When the door opens Catherine is still in the skirt and blouse she had worn to the drive, and he’s faced with the unfortunate realization that perhaps his efforts at civility have worked a little too well; rather than inspiring trepidation through presence alone, as he’d maybe hoped for absently on the way here, he seems to be a welcome sight. Catherine’s face lights up behind the screen.

She opens it. Bucky does not miss the way her eyes flick over him and works hard not to set his jaw.

“Mrs. Whitlaf, I’m sorry to bother you. You forgot your dish.”

“Oh! That is so sweet of you – of course I did. I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed onto my neck. You ever feel that way?”

Bucky sucks at his cheek, hopefully covertly, “Oh, sure. All the time.”

Perhaps Catherine picks up on something in his tone, because she meets his eye with a gleam of interest. “So nice to see you participating in these little Delacroix things,” she says. “My, when you first showed up most folks never assumed you would stay.”

At the very least, Catherine’s brand of backhanded compassion is not something she wields only against Sarah. He gets the feeling that with him, though, she’s waiting for a cue.

“Funny how things work out,” Bucky says, slipping his right hand into his jacket pocket so she doesn’t see it clench. “Well, Mrs. Whitlaf, my quest is complete –”

“You oughta call me Cathy! And you’re Bucky. Or do you prefer Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky grinds his teeth through his smile and stares at the azaleas. When Torres does it it’s sweet. When Sarah does it he feels warm down to his toes. When Rhodey’s trainees do it it’s fucking awkward but not completely terrible.

No Man Violence, says Sarah’s voice in his head.

Bucky’s therapist, to no one’s surprise, loves Sarah.

“Bucky is fine.”

“That’s good to hear. We’re friends, after all.”

Bucky grunts and Catherine does not seem to mind one bit. “I should go. Couple things left to do on the way home.”

“Oh,” she says, “of course. Couldn’t forget how sweet you seem to be on our own Ms. Wilson. Are those the boys in the car?”

“I should go,” Bucky repeats, smiling tightly. He’s still holding the casserole dish.

“You don’t say! Well I am glad as anyone you feel so at home around here, honey. I was even just tellin’ Ken the other day –” She leans in, as though they’re about to share a secret, “sometimes a person can hardly guess you ever did that stuff they say on the Internet. They aren’t exaggerating or anything? Maybe it was someone else. If it weren’t for that metal arm, well … and you get on so well with all the kids.”

There’s very little that’s truly coy about her line of questioning. That clumsiness, he thinks again. Bucky couldn’t care less what she’s looking for – gossip, maybe, or something to satisfy her own morbid sense of thrill.

He’s not sure if he walked up those driveway steps looking for an opportunity. Or even an excuse. But he’s got one.

Bucky says,

“All me.” He makes sure to smile, as sincerely as possible. “Every single thing.”

“Oh, my,” she says, laughing girlishly. It’s not exactly nervous. But when she comes to quickly take the casserole dish from his hand and it doesn’t budge, her expression turns reedy.

“Good for you to know these things,” Bucky says pleasantly.

He remains standing where he is, an easy, respectable distance away from her, arm outstretched in benign offering. Catherine’s smile flickers just slightly at the edge. His right hand is loose in his pocket. His left hand fingers stay tightly curled around the red ceramic. In the long line of analogies Ayo has favoured in the past, there is that of the prey's instinct, and the predator's. Bucky's fingers don’t quite scrape over the dish, but it’s a near thing.

“Oh?”

“Catherine,” says Bucky. “Can I call you Catherine?"

"I -- yes?"

Bucky inclines his chin and lets his pleasant expression drop.

"Great. I am going to ask you and your husband this politely. Once. Leave Sarah Wilson and her family alone.”

Catherine stares at him in open-mouthed shock. He can see the moment her lips twist from nervous flirtation into mortified understanding. He lets go of the casserole dish.

“Ma’am,” he says softly, nodding.

He smiles at her, turns, and walks back to the car.

By the time they get to the Piggly Wiggly’s, the sun has almost set. April’s warm but not too warm; Bucky’s leather jacket is comfortable over his arms and AJ has borrowed Cass’s hoodie. Bucky herds them out of the car and hoists AJ up piggy-back style as he sources a shopping cart and they start making their way through the short list of needed items. He doesn’t know if Sarah’s home yet; hopefully they can make it back on time to get some leftovers warmed up, so they all have one less thing to think about.

They slip into their routine. Bucky leans easily on the cart, AJ’s legs dangle, and Cass announces their different needed items from the list on Bucky’s phone in his hand and begs for novelties at intervals. The ice cream is granted, but Bucky’s no is very firm on the Warheads.

“Those things’ll burn through your intestines, Cass.”

That is, apparently, half the fun. The answer is still no.

They’re in the coffee aisle, with Bucky frowning at the tiny print on their preferred brand that announces a whole five ounces less coffee for the same price, when a familiar voice sounds from the display of cantaloupes at the very far end. Bucky looks up as casually as possible. He can see Randy Baker from the tackle shop with his phone to his ear, round faced and red faced and genial as usual.

“... say. Aw come on, Ken, you’re just making things up now. No. No, you know I’m your friend. We’ve been friends years, now. But – at the door? Yeah.”

Bucky focuses more intently on the coffee and tries not to close his eyes in defeat.

“Man, I say you’re insane ‘cause you ain’t hearing yourself? Threatened your wife. Get outta here. You been drinkin’ that sensationalist kool-aid on YouTube, Ken, there ain’t no way Bucky Barnes threatened your wife. Now are you really gonna -- you know Cathy exaggerates everything, Ken. Everyone around here knows that boy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

AJ’s voice filters into his ear, somewhere in between sleepy and bemused.

“-- ncle B. Um, Earth to Uncle Bucky. I think you busted the coffee beans.”

Bucky looks down. His thumb has indeed poked a hole through the plastic, right in the middle of nutty and fruity tones.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. He puts the bag face up in the cart and resigns himself to the horrible toll inflation’s taken on this country.

Their movement has made Randy look up; he spots them over the cantaloupe pile, and sends an unconcerned grin and a wave their way. AJ waves back, swinging his legs. Bucky raises two stiff fingers in greeting.

Randy returns to his conversation, now adding an eye-roll to the mix.

Bucky refocuses on the groceries. They need eggs and bread and something about orange juice. He looks down to ask Cass what’s next on the list only to find Cass looking at him carefully.

Bucky looks back. “You got our list?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s up, Cass?”

Randy is slowly moving away from them, further into produce. Cass says, “Mike’s mom’s got her whole hair salon thing going downtown now.”

Bucky has indeed met Little Mike, the very tall boy in Cass’s grade, and knows the stories of his mother’s hair-care prowess. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool,” Cass echoes. “She did all her bank stuff on her own but Mike’s dad was really supportive of it. So … even when she wasn’t there or like super busy or something, no one ever tried to mess with her. No one messes with Mike at school,” he adds, with only the slightest hint of a question mark slipping in right at the end.

He’s looking at Bucky with that appraising look that seems to come out every so often – like he’s waiting for his theory to be disproved. His eyes are just a touch bigger than usual. Bucky wonders how much of today Cass has overheard without anyone noticing. He hoists AJ higher on his back and holds a hand out for the phone. Cass gives it to him. Then he floats over, in that awkward way teenaged boys can have, and leans his shoulder against Bucky’s arm as they begin to shuffle forward in the aisle.

“Except Shivani,” Cass continues. “But that’s ‘cause she’s in love with him or whatever and girls are weird.”

“I thought Crystal Jenkins was into Little Mike.”

“Everyone’s into Little Mike. He doesn’t really know what to do about it. It’s his burden.”

“Like Aragorn,” says AJ solemnly, from behind Bucky’s ear.

Warm against Bucky’s side, and after a long moment of silence, Cass goes back to reading from their list like nothing has changed. “Lemonade,” he declares.

“We are not getting lemonade,” says Bucky. “I make better lemonade at home.”

“You never make lemonade, Uncle B.”

“If we want lemonade, I’ll make lemonade. We’re gettin' orange juice. With pulp.”

They pass by Randy on their way out of the store, and Bucky smiles at him in greeting with a steady confidence before asking Cass to help him unload the shopping cart. In the car, he calls Sarah, on speaker, and promises a continuation of that nine a.m. dream kiss, loud enough that the boys both groan, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she responds.