#Also also my sister gifted me some markers! Which I am trying to figure out askdfh

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @gravitaz, created by @dork-empress!

~~

“GREETINGS NEWTON FAMILY!” Minerva announced, flinging the door open. 

“Honey!” Duck said, clutching his hat to catch up from where he was running up the driveway, “I told you to KNOCK!”

“I did!” Minerva said, “and the door did not open, and so I decided to help it along!” She smiled at him, outshining the sun. Or so it seemed to Duck anyway. 

“You are welcome to rob us.” A girl said from the stairs, “Start with Duck’s old dolls--oh, sorry ‘’’action figures.’’’’”

Duck rolled his eyes, and pulled the girl, his sister Jane, into a half-hug, which quickly turned into more of a half-nelson. “Missed you too, Gremlin.”

“Augh!!!” she yelled, flailing like they were kids again, “Abuse! Abuse! Child abuse!”

“Oh please,” Duck said, “You’re not a kid anymore, you can’t use that excuse.”

Jane grumbled. “That’s right!” she said in challenge, “I can fight back!” Jane darted her hands out to tickle Duck’s stomach instead, getting him to let go. “Ha! Jane Newton, Still the Undefeated champion!!”

“Most impressive!” Minerva said, still standing in the doorway and somehow not looking awkward, “Wayne Newton is a most formidable warrior.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Wayne, huh?”

Duck scowled at his sister, “Let it go Janey.” 

“I also wish to inform you, Jane Newton,” Minerva continued, “That I have no intention of robbing your house, even Wayne Newton’s action figures.” 

Jane smiled, “Oh, I like this one, Ducky.”

“Nope,” Duck said, shaking his head, “we’re not doing that.”

Jane ignored him and held out her hand to Minerva, “Pleased to meet you in person, Minerva.”

Minerva beamed again. “You as well, Jane Newton. I wonder, are you what people call, ‘a hugger?’” 

Duck could see three whole jokes pass through Jane’s head that she swallowed down. “Yes, I most certainly am--”

Minerva swooped Jane up into one of her classic bone-crushing hugs. Jane groaned as the air left her lungs, while Duck snickered at her pain. He’s been there, though he didn’t regret it. “Alright, honey, let her breathe.”

Minerva let Jane down, who staggered back. “Well. Damn,” Jane said, blinking at the hug. 

Minerva paused, “I hope I was not too forceful, Jane Newton. I’ve learned to ask permission first, but I have been told I have trouble holding in my incredible strength.”

Jane whistled. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine,” she said, biting her lip. 

“Hey,” Duck shooed her into the house, “My girlfriend, you can’t have her. Stop it.”

Jane chuckled, walking into the hallway, and letting Duck and Minerva properly enter. Duck took off his shoes, Minerva mimicking him. “Forgive me for stalling out here. I was just trying to save you, Mom’s on the warpath, and--”

“Wayne?” they heard a call from the kitchen, “Is that you Wayne?” 

Duck sighed, “Hi Mom,” he said, “Minerva’s here too.” 

“Excellent, come in here and set the table!” His mother called. 

Duck sighed, taking Minerva’s hand and leading her to the kitchen. 

His mother was bouncing about from counter to counter, preparing at least 3 dishes at once. On sight of her son, she thrust a stack of napkins into his hands. “Good to see you too, Mom.”

She doubled back to kiss him on the cheek before dropping her phone onto the pile of napkins. “I’ve pulled up a video on how to fold them, follow it as closely as you can. Jane, check on the vegetables while I mind the turkey, and--oh goodness.” She had finally taken in Minerva. “Oh my deary, you’re much taller than you looked on Skype.”

Minerva took it in stride. “Yes, I am very tall in comparison to most hu--women.” she stopped herself from saying humans, and Duck could only hope his mother and sister overlooked it. “Some people have become intimidated, I’ve noticed, but do not fear. I am here only for peace.” 

Mrs. Newton’s face lit up. “Fear? Oh goodness no, deary. You’re perfect. Can you get the platters I’ve put on the top shelf there? I don’t fully trust my step stool, it’s rather old.”

“Certainly!” Minerva said, easily reaching up to grab it.

Duck smiled, taking the napkins into the dining room. He didn’t know why he worried. He should have known his family would take to Minerva just the same as he did.

He was still folding the first napkin by the time Minerva came in with a beautifully plated asparagus, complete with drizzles of sauce. “Are you having trouble, Wayne Newton?” Minerva asked. 

Duck sighed, “Sorry ‘bout my mom,” he said, “She tends to go all out, and goes a bit overboard in my opinion. I mean, this is a bit much for a simple Candlenights.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Minerva said, “I don’t really know much about your human traditions. What is Candlenights, anyway?”

“A trademark of Big Head Productions LLC,” Duck answered easily. Minerva blinked, as she did when she was trying to figure out if something was a joke or not. “Look, back when she left my dad, Mom had this huge falling out with her church, and felt...weird celebrating Christmas. So we celebrate this like, secular version that’s on this podcast she likes and connects a bunch of different holidays together. Hence the menorah,” he said, nodding at the candle that served as a centerpiece, “And the Thanksgiving turkey and New Years Eve poppers….its just a whole grab bag of winter holidays.”

Minerva nodded, “A brave thing to do, to leave a culture behind that had wronged her, and to start something fresh and new.”

Duck smiled, “‘Brave’ is a...nice way of describing mom,” he said, “She’s a character, for sure. Always liked to do things her own way. It’s funny, when I came out---” he stopped himself, reminding himself he hadn’t actually super had this conversation with his girlfriend yet. Most people already knew once they’d known him long enough, but Minerva didn’t know a lot of human culture or societal norms or...anything. 

“Came out of what?” Minerva asked, the only indication of how long he had stopped talking.

Duck took a breath, and summoned her over to his mother’s picture wall. There were two that were further back than a few years ago, the first of him when he was a baby….and the second of him with Jane when she was a baby. Except he had little pigtails and a yellow dress he’d hated wearing even that far back. “So, this is me,” he pointed at the young child holding up baby Jane. “Or...was me.” She frowned at him, not understanding the significance. “Ho boy, where to start. Um, so, when I was born….people thought I was a girl,” he winced, unsure how to explain western gender standards to an alien. Minerva always referred to herself as she, but he was unsure if that was a translation thing, or if her planet had the same gender norms or what.

“Why did they think that?” Minerva asked, innocently.

“I just…” Duck said, “Sometimes...that happens. People use the markers they have available before kids are old enough to really know themselves, and then...if they got it wrong, then those people---me---are called Trans. Like, transitioning. I’m a trans man.” She nodded. “But uh. Anyway. The point is, when they do the telling, it’s called ‘coming out.’ And...some parents don’t react well to it.” He smirked, “Not Mom though. She was ready to go toe-to-toe to anyone who gave me trouble about it. Gave me the name ‘Wayne’ too….that was quite the ordeal.” 

He frowned, but wasn’t seriously annoyed at the memories of Mrs. Newton being fine with helping to change the gender marker on his ID, but refusing to let him legally change his name to ‘Duck.’ in fairness, he was happy with just having Duck be a nickname now. Wayne Newton was something he and his mother bonded over, so it worked out well, a symbol for just the family.

“Then she is an honorable woman,” Minerva said, getting Duck to smile wider, “and a worthy commander, I must go and help with preparing more dishes to be served. Are you sure you don’t need help with the napkins?”

Duck sighed, mood souring as he turned back to the cloth that refused to fold like in the video. “Give me one more chance before I call it forfeit,” he said. She frowned again, trying to figure out if it was a joke. “I’ll be fine,” he told her, quickly jumping to his toes to kiss her on the cheek, “Go help, before she declares you AWOL.”

Minerva smiled, recognizing that one for a joke. She gave a salute, “Yes, sir!” she said, before marching back into the kitchen.

Duck smiled, watching after her. He gave one last look to the photo on the wall, the only one of him pre-social transition his mom kept up. Even that had come with a long discussion, but Duck wasn’t ashamed of being trans, and besides, the first pictures of Baby Jane were important.

As he heard footsteps, though, he turned his attention back to the napkins. How in the hell was he supposed to just make it look like a swan?!

#dork-empress #gravitaz #queercandlenights #taz #the adventure zone #duck #minerva #minewton #duck x minerva #fic

[scaredofthebasement-blog]

When Love Walks In - Chpt 8

Reblog to get this great love story out there.  It’s just lifting off...Enjoy the ride!  

Chpt 8 - Auston Gets Dr Quinn Alone

2869 Words

“Hey Auston, what’s going on?”  Dr Quinn approaches his bed and sits beside him in the chair.  

He just sits, staring off, thinking of what he can say.

“You can talk to me about anything, Auston.  I will try to help you if you tell me your concerns.”

He grabs his whiteboard and writes, “I want this all to be over, to get out of here and back to my life the way I knew it.”

“Yes.  I get that Auston.  Honestly, I understand.  But it should only be a couple more days till you will be able to breathe on your own if you continue with your ‘Rock Star’ ways.”  She smirks at him and tilts her head to get him to look at her.  She draws a smile and blush out of him.  He feels like he’s back in high school again with a school boy crush.  

Dr Quinn continues, “Then we will be able to get you out of Intensive Care, get you out of the hospital and start focusing on your voice and your physical fitness.  Your breathing capacity will have to wait till you have completely healed and you’ve had an opportunity to get your conditioning back.  So yes, as I’m sure you’re figuring out, this is going to be a game of patience.  But I’m sure you’ve had to exercise patience in getting yourself into the NHL.  I’m sure you can remember doing that?”

Auston nods yes.

“Did it work out in the end?” She asks, knowing the answer.

“Till a puck smashed my throat”, he writes with a sarcastic smirk.

“Ha!  Yes.  Sadly, that’s true.  But I bet you went through the long game of huge challenges and struggles that you had to rise above to get to the point…,” she pauses looking for the right words.  “…Where you got to take that puck to your throat”, Dr Quinn grins as she teases the last part, looking for a reaction.

Auston can’t help but chuckle and smile at what she just said.  She gets me.  She’s cool, he thinks.

“From what I have heard, it looks like you handled all of that preparation for the NHL really well.”

Curious, Auston needs to know, so he writes, “What did you hear?”  

“Just that you made it to the NHL, against some pretty big odds, coming from the sunbelt, I understand”, Dr Quinn answers.

Oh, so that’s all she knows, he thinks.

“Do you like the Leafs? Do you watch games?”  He writes, trying to find out what she might know about him.

“To be completely honest, Auston I have not been following the Leafs.  I’ve been preoccupied with my career for many years.  But I do know they’re a hockey team AND I have nothing against them if that’s what you’re getting at”, she jokes.

Auston picks up his marker and writes “LOL!” and smiles at Dr Quinn’s joke.

Dr Quinn laughs.

Auston writes, “Oh, so glad you have nothing against us.  LMAO! I can gift you tickets to a game when I get back playing?  It’s the least I could do.”

“That sounds like something I wouldn’t hate.”  Dr Quinn smiles.

“Oh, wow!  You sound so into it.  You do know that people actually pay big bucks to go to Leafs’ games, right?”  He shows her his board, shaking his head and smiling.

“Yes, of course.  I would like to watch you play sometime, Auston. I’ve heard good things”,  Dr Quinn attempts to reassure him.

He can’t help himself. He shakes his head, grinning and writes, “Good things!  Ha! OMG!  You’re so funny!  So you didn’t know who I was when you were operating on me?”

Dr Quinn is starting to think this guy is a bit full of himself.  She makes a note to herself that she should have a look into what he is all about.  She knows he is in the news, that there are tons of people concerned about him and there is a shrine outside the hospital, but she also knows that hockey and all professional sports are a huge deal in Toronto, so any good player would get that kind of attention.

I should Google him when I get a chance, she thinks.

Dr Quinn tells him, “No. The attending staff that night just informed me that you were an NHL hockey player injured in a playoff game. Then after surgery, they told me your name, but I had only heard it in the context that the Leafs were lucky to get you.”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”  He writes.

“Ha!  Auston!  You are pretty bold, aren’t you?”  She laughs nervously.

“Sorry.  You don’t have to answer.  I was just curious.  Besides you already know a lot about me”,  He writes back.

“No, to be honest, I don’t know much about you, other than medically speaking.  I’m telling you the truth when I say I’ve been living under a rock of medical studies for years.  I was actually just thinking that, by the sound of things, I should probably look into this ‘Auston Matthews’ guy.  You’ve got me curious, thinking I must be in the presence of a pretty amazing star”, she says half teasing.

Auston is embarrassed. He writes on his board, “Oh man, I feel like an asshole for coming across as cocky.”  He then wipes his board.  “Sorry, I’m not used to people not knowing who I am, in hockey-obsessed Toronto, I mean”, He writes and wipes again.  “I am actually just a 27-year-old guy, raised in Arizona, blessed with a supportive family, great coaches, athleticism, fast reflexes and good hand-eye coordination. I applied myself and have been very lucky.”  

He is running out of room on the whiteboard, so he shows her and cleans the board.  He continues, “I’ve achieved pretty good success and play for a big deal team that makes a big deal out of me.”  

He cleans the board again and adds, “But I’ve never won a Cup, can’t breathe on my own, can’t talk, and never saved a life.  So look no further than yourself, cause you’re the star in this room.”  He erases again and ends with, “Oh, and you’re gonna have to get me a bigger whiteboard.”  He gives a cheeky smile as he holds up the board.

Dr Quinn laughs. “Ha!  Very funny!  Oh, Auston, I could get you a bigger whiteboard, but I plan on getting you talking as soon as possible.  Seriously though, thank you for sharing with me a bit about you.  I’m glad to know you better.”  She doesn’t know what else to say but definitely feels that he has just endeared himself to her.

“So I understand you’ve become a very successful doctor in a short period?”  Auston enquires.

“One might say that”, she answers shyly.

“You must be proud of yourself”, He adds.

“Well, I’m happy that I was able to get where I am, sooner than later, so that I can do what I have dreamed of doing which is to make a difference for people in medical crisis like yourself”,  she answers.

“My parents told me about your rise, and it sounds like I am fortunate to have you as my doctor. Thank you, for all the hard work you put in so that you can be here today to help me”, Auston writes.

“Oh, Auston, thank you for that!  I’m really happy that I can be here to help you.  You could say for me, helping you was like getting into the playoffs.  But getting your voice back; that will be my Stanley Cup.”

“Look at you using sport’s analogies, Dr Q!” He writes, smiling and opens his mouth to emphasize shock.

“Yeah, I kinda surprised myself there.”  She responds, laughing.

“They told me what happened to your boyfriend and said that inspired you to do what you are doing now. That’s a pretty amazing story”, Auston writes.

“I suppose so.  I needed to make something good come out of a tragic situation.  I’m assuming that there was something that started you on your path to becoming an NHL player”, Dr Quinn queries.

Auston writes, “Yeah, I fell in love with the speed and skill of the game.  I bonded over hockey with my dad and my uncle, Billy.  My uncle died when I was about four.  My dad was pretty torn up since they were very close. It was hard to see him like that. I suppose I wanted to make my Dad happy again by doing well in something and honour my uncle.  I’m also highly competitive, which I attribute to me being a middle child.  Always fighting for the attention, I guess.  I’ve no idea why I just told you that.”  Auston looks up at Dr Quinn, to gauge her reaction.  He’s almost expecting her to leave the room, turned off by this guy who is not as cool as he is trying to appear.  He’s disappointed in himself, slipping up and letting her see behind the curtain.  He’s embarrassed.

Sensing his regret over his disclosure, Dr Quinn tries to reassure him.  “Well, that was refreshingly insightful and honest, Auston.  I’m actually flattered that you would share that with me.  Please don’t regret telling me that.  I’m actually impressed that you can see yourself for who you are and that you trust me, to tell me such things.  From what I have observed in life, everyone has the fundamental need to be heard, seen and valued.  Some just go about it more boldly than others.”

“Thank you.”  Auston writes as he smirks shyly.  His heart is overflowing with affection for this woman who stands before him.

“I’m sorry about your Uncle Billy, Auston.  How did he die?”  She asks.

“CF”,  He writes.

“Ah, a breathing disease. Interesting.  Well, you are going to honour your Uncle and make your father, mother, sisters and fans, very proud when you get yourself breathing on your own again.  There may also be a chance to make you and I the proudest that we have ever been.”

“How’s that?”  He writes, confused.

“Restoring your voice. Like I told you, the small trials have been successful, but you could be the first big success.  I believe in you, and I believe in me.  I will be your guide every step of the way.  We’ll be a team.  You just need to do what I tell you.  In fact, I’ll make you a promise.  I will go to one of your hockey games when you make it back to playing hockey again. How’s that sound?”

Auston feels a peace wash through his body as she speaks.  He knows he can trust her.  He believes he can count on her.  It is like he has known her forever.  He wants her to stay with him.  He feels secure and safe with her near.

“So do we have a deal that you and I will fix you and then I’ll go to one of your games?”

“Yeah, but I have one thing to add”,  He writes.

“And what’s that?” She asks.

“You’ll wear my Jersey to the game”,  he writes before he thinks it through.  

Where the hell has my filter gone, and why do I keep telling her things that make me look pathetic or like a school boy with a crush?  He immediately asks himself as his stomach drops.

Suddenly, her stomach gets butterflies, and a red flag goes up.  For some reason, Auston’s request feels intimate.  

“Then what will YOU wear?” She responds quickly with a joke, to lighten the unease.

Embarrassed, Auston smiles and rolls his eyes and is glad for the comic relief as a distraction.  He still wants to crawl under the bed but can only hope she isn’t creeped out.

Curiosity gets the best of Dr Quinn, and she can’t help but ask, “Seriously, though, why is that Auston?”

He thinks fast and writes, “Because you said we’re a team, so we have to wear the same jersey, right?”

She is relieved.  That makes sense to her.  “Oh for sure Auston.  Deal!” She says as she reaches out her hand to move past this uneasy conversation.  As they shake hands, they both feel an electric charge but pretended not to notice.  

Great save! Auston thinks to himself.

Dr Quinn wants to escape the confusing thoughts she is having about Auston.  She instantly numbs herself to feeling the tingle she got when they touched.  She reveals nothing in her reaction or words.  Her job depends on it.

“Well, I need to get going, Auston.  But I hope this talk helped.”

He nods and smiles but secretly wants more time with her.

“You going home?”  He writes, hoping to solicit more information about her nonchalantly.

“Yeah, after I finish some paperwork”,  She answers with a grin.

“Got any plans tonight?” Auston continues his mission for information.

“Just Pilates.  In fact, I recall, that’s what I had just finished when I got the Page to come help out a certain STAR hockey player who had an accident”,  She teases.

“Ha! Oh.  Sorry about that”,  He writes.

“Yeah, I might forgive you”, She jokes with a wink.

Auston makes a realisation and writes, “Hey!  So that night you weren’t even watching a Toronto, Game 7, Stanley Cup game?!  R you sure you’re from Toronto?  Pilates?  Wow! Just Wow!”  Auston shakes his head, teasing Dr Quinn.

Dr Quinn laughs and in a matter-of-fact voice pleads her case, “Hey!  I told you. I’ve been buried under a rock of medical studies, research, surgeries and being a doctor.  What can I say?  I have no life.  But wait! I seem to recall that as I arrived home from my class that particular night, I was going to put on the TV to check the score of your said ‘game seven’ when someone interrupted me from my ‘hockey game watching.’ Apparently, that SOMEONE needed me to do a little operation.”  Dr Quinn smirks confidently.

“Oh, so you ARE Canadian, after all!  I was really starting to wonder.”  He writes, teasing her.

“But seriously?  The tail end of a game 7 was the best you could do?!  You’re barely hanging on to your citizenship Doctor”,  Auston adds in jest.

“Looks like someone needs to pull you out from under that rock, Dr Quinn.”  Auston writes teasing her again.

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that”,  She replies.

“So, what are you doing after Pilates?  Not to be nosey.  Just trying to live vicariously through you since I’ll be laying here in a hospital bed while you’re out there free”, Auston fibs.

“Sorry to disappoint, but not much, I’m afraid.  I will probably just get something to eat, return some texts, read or watch tv.”

“Do you have kids?” He writes, hoping his questions will just come off as light conversation.

“Nope.  No kids.  No husband.” She answers.

Auston is thrilled but doesn’t let on.

“A boyfriend?”  He dares to ask.

“Nope.  No boyfriend.”  She responds with a nervous laugh.  She again feels slightly uncomfortable but convinces herself he’s just asking cause he’s bored.

She surprises herself when she questions Auston back, “And you?”  She hopes he just takes it as an innocent back and forth.

“Nope, neither, either and no kids.”  He writes.

They both smile nervously, hoping that their happiness over such revelations isn’t detected by the other.

“Well you have fun laying here in bed, and I’ll have fun doing pilates, eating and not having a life.” She tells him.

Auston thinks she is so cute.  He writes on his board, “Ha!  Okay, it sounds like we’re both living our best life!”

“We sure are!  I’ll see you tomorrow, Auston and we’ll get you breathing again soon.  Oh, that is if you still need me for the breathing exercises.  Probably not, right?  You’re good with Dr Wright now, right?”  She has to laugh at all the “rights” she used there.  She is giddy and nervous and doesn’t want to acknowledge to herself why.

He writes, “Wrong! No.  I need you still.  Pls. We’re a team.  Remember?”

“You’re right, Auston! We are a team.” She tells him shocked by the feeling of warmth running through her body.

Auston smiles huge. He thinks she is adorable.

Needing to escape, Dr Quinn announces, “Anyways; I’ll be back here at 10 am.  Sleep well, Auston.  Oh, and I’ll send your parents back in.  Okay?”

“Yes, I’m going to ask them to go home for the evening and get some sleep.  I need some time alone, and they do as well.”  He writes to her.

Ignoring every warning going off in her brain, she swallows, “I see. Sounds good, Auston.  Can I see your board for a minute?”  

Auston hands her his whiteboard and marker, looking at her, curious as to why she needs it.

She writes something on it quickly, flips it over, hands it back to him and blushing, walks away, saying, “Okay Auston.  Sweet dreams. I’ll send them in.”

Auston watches Dr Quinn leave the room and quickly turns the board over, excited to read what she has written.  

“29” is all it reads.

#auston matthews #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #fanfiction #imagine #nhl fanfiction #leafs #toronto maple leafs #love story

[chelleaslin]

Rare Pair Month Day 31- Valentines Day

@mlrarepairmonth

“Alya, this is it, this is the year.” Marinette sternly said as she took a deep breath and marched towards Adrien, her hands holding a Valentines card behind her back. Adrien was surrounded by a group of girls all fighting for his attention as they shoved gifts of all sorts at him, he smiled politely at all the girls but anyone could tell he was uncomfortable. He looked around for help from anyone, luckily his green eyes landed on a familiar figure approaching him.

“Hey Marinette!” He called out smiling, waving the girl over. Marinettes heart soared as he greeted her until she noticed the group of girls around him all sending her death glares. She awkwardly waved back at the boy before spinning on her heel and marching right back to Alya.

“Alya, this is not my year.” She sighed sadly as she hung her head in shame. Alya sent her a sympathetic smile, throwing her arm around her shorter best friend.

“It’s okay, the day just began you’ve got plenty of changes.” She encouraged her as she guided her inside. Marinette sent her a soft thankful smile as they headed into class.

The day passed with multiple attempts to confess to Adrien but each and every one of them was a bust. By the time the final bell rung, Marinette was physically and emotionally exhausted. She endured a day full of faliure while also watching many girl sussessful confess to him, sure he kindly rejected them but it still made Marinettes head hurt.

“I’m done with romance.” Marinette yawned as her and Alya walked out of school. Alya snorted as she rolled her brown eyes at her friend.

“Sure you are, Mari.” Alya laughed as she hugged Marinette. “Love ya girl, I’ll call you after my date.” She then turned and started jogging to catch up to Nino. Marinette sighed sadly once again, she watch her two friends intertwine their fingers as they walked hand in hand. She felt a small twang of jealously, she hated Valentine’s Day, it did nothing but remind her how single she really was. She pulled her backpack further up her back before turning towards the Bakery and walking home.

“Hello, honey!” Her Papa chirped as soon as she walked in. She sent him a soft smile while mumbling back a greeting. If he noticed her off mood, he made no attempt to mention it. “How was Valentine’s Day? Any boys I have to fight off?” He joked as he pulled out a baguette. Marinette knew he was only trying to make her laugh and didn’t mean any harm by the question but she couldn’t help but feel upset about his joke.

“Actually Papa, I-“ She was cut off by her Mother waving a red envelope in front of her face.

“She got a letter delivered here.” Sabine sang as she continued to wave the letter around. Marinettes heart started to race, someone wrote her a Valentine letter? Was it Adrien? She all but snatched the letter from her Mothers hand before running upstairs to her room for some privacy.

Once the hatch to her room was firmly shut Marinette opened her bag to let Tikki out.

“Oh a Valentines letter, how exciting!” The Kwami chirped as she flew in circles around her chosen.

“I know Tikki I hope it’s from Adrien.” Marinette replied as she threw her school bag on the ground and sat at her desk. She held the letter out in front of her, finally getting to inspect it.

The envelope was a red with light pink heart on the front, there was also a Jagged stone sticker on the back, sealing it shut. She brushed her fingers softly over the black permanent marker on the front before frowning.

The hand writing was a beautiful neat cursive, nothing like Adrien’s large sloppy hand writing. Even though this was her first ever Valentine she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She groanned in annoyence that her hopes had been crushed once again, she threw the envelope on her desk.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked curiously, why wasn’t see opening it.

“It’s not from Adrien.” Marinette muttered glumly, she glanced at Tikki, shocked to see the Kwami glaring at her. “What?” Marinette asked as she said up straighter, not liking the judgmental look she was receiving.

“Someone spend time, effort and money on you, YOU, for Valentine’s Day! you’re the person they had to build up the effort to write and send this too. Your the person how they wanted to spend the day of love with and YOU’RE telling me that you’re not even going to bother opening it just because it’s not from Adrien?” The tiny god was absolutely fuming as she angrily ranted at her chosen.

Marinette felt an over whelming sense of shame as she guilty avoided eye contact with Tikki. What was she thinking? was she really going to ignore her first ever Valentine because it wasn’t from Adrien, sure she loved him but they weren’t a couple, he didn’t even know about her feelings and here she was dismissing a stranger that actually had feelings for her.

She picked up the envelope and opened it, revealing a simple folded piece of paper. She unfolded the letter and begain to read.

Dear, Marinette Dupin-Cheng

I’m going to start this letter by telling you about how much of a coward I am. I didn’t have the guts to give this too you in person , so I got my sister to put it in your mailbox.

I wanted to give this to you with flower or chocolate but I know that your heart belongs to another so I couldn’t face you. I keep trying to tell myself that it didn’t mater that you didn’t return my feelings, that I should express my love for you without expecting love in return but it is a lot harder to stay humble than I originally thought...

You just blow me away with every small fact I learn about you. You’re incredibly brave, kind and funny you’re extremely talented which you already knew but yet you’re so down to Earth.

You’re friends with so many rich and famous people but are as humble as anyone common person. How can you been so ordinary extraordinary? It blows my mind, you blow my mind.

I just love you so much Marinette, inside and out, you are the most beautiful soul I have known in all my lives.

-Just another face on the street.

“Marinette?” Tikki’s voice broke her from her trance.

“Yes, Tikki?” She sobbed out, surprising herself. She tenderly reach a hand to her cheeks, feeling a warm wetness. When did she start to cry? “I have to find however wrote this?” She whispered to more herself than her Kwami. She reread over the note, her secret admirer said their sister delivered the letter, implying that their sister knew her address and most likely knew her. It wasn’t much but it was a start, she needed to know who this letter was from.

“Tikki, I need a notepad, pen and my yearbooks.”

#adrien Agreste #marinette dupin cheng #Luka Couffine #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #Lukanette #Rarepairmonth2019

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

bones in the box 6

She woke up the next morning and felt better than she had in months. Even knowing that everything in her life was hanging in the balance. She felt relieved for some reason in that way you do when find a misplaced item that you thought you couldn’t live without. She looked over from her bedroom archway to the table where the skull was faced the opposite way and wondered if it was because of them. The bones she had received. She still wasn’t happy with the 3d rendering of the face. Everything seemed off for the things she could clearly see. It was almost as if she was projecting another’s face on to the skull. She would run the software again with less of the markers that she knew should be there and see what popped up then.

Her phone rang, and she hopped up and got the robe at the end of her bed as she rushed to the phone she had thrown in the chair the night before. Thinking it may be Nikolaus she smiled to herself, but it was an unknown number.

“Doctor Jankowski?”, the voice asked.

“This is.”, she replied.

“We know of the trouble in the museum. Is your gift with you?”, the male voice asked.

“Yes.”, she said. “They were not part of the exhibit were they?”

“No. they are yours.”, the voice said.

“Before you hang up. What did you mean they would tell me something when they felt comfortable with me? And who sent them to me?”, she asked.

“In time Doctor you will have all the answers to your questions and questions for your answers.”, the person said and hung up.

“What in the hell is going on?”, she asked. She felt the air shift again, and the lights flickered slightly. “Okay guys, you can stop with the parlor tricks. I know you are there. You are trying to scare me or are you trying to talk to me?” she looked down at the skull and turned it around. “You really need a name.”

She got up to look outside, and when she came back to the table, she saw the computer screen had two letters typed hundreds of times. M.A. Well she thought at least I got an answer of sorts, she thought to herself as she looked down at the skull, and I am also going crazy. I am freaking crazy. I knew it.

She  sat there looking at the screen for what seemed to be ever. Though she knew it really wasn’t all that long. she knew she was going out of her mind as she looked at the keyboard to see if the keyboard had got stuck on those to keys. Though she knew rationally, that was not possible she still had to check. For her own piece of mind at least. There was nothing there, but she did get a text message just at the time she was about ready to clean the keyboard. She jumped near out of her skin as she went to her phone.

“Look outside” was the text she forgot to look to see whom it was from before heading to the door. She opened it to find her brother standing there.

“Why didn’t you say you were here?”, she asked.

“If I did that you wouldn’t have opened the door.”,he replied, and she had to agree. His logic was not flawed though he surely was.

“What do you want?”, she asked as she did not open the door more so he could come inside. She didn’t trust him any more than she could throw him.

“I heard it from a friend you were slumming it up last night.”, he stated with a smile that sent chills down her spine. She almost forgot exactly whom she was talking to and what he was capable of.

“I went out for a drink with a friend.”, she said.

“This friend is a guy?”, he asked.

“Why the hell do you care?”, she asked.

“You are some big shot now, how would it look for you to go out on the wrong side of those tracks with the wrong type of guy?”, her brother said as he lowered his voice.

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”, she asked.

“Have you done something worth being blackmailed?”, he probed.

“No. and goodbye.”, she said as she went to shut the door. Her brother stuck his foot in the door jam so she could not close it. Just then another voice appeared out of nowhere.

“Everything okay Princess?” when she heard the words she felt a sigh escape her mouth.

“Yes, Nikolas.”, she called out. “My brother was just leaving.”

“Oh you’re her brother.”, Nikolaus said.

“And you are?”, her brother’s voice changed to even more menacing than normal.

“A friend.”, she said quickly. Nikolaus smiled as she said that and then she noticed he was bigger than her brother as he had moved to the door and shifted her brothers body away from the opening without doing anything other than walk up the walkway. She had to smile at that, and she opened the door more knowing her brother couldn’t do much right now.

“Well, friend. Have fun with my sister.”, he said as he stalked away and down the drive.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked as she looked up at Nikolaus.

“I thought you could use some company.”, he stated. “To be honest, I have no idea why I thought that but the idea came to me, and it was like wrestling with the waves.”

“I am glad you did.”, she said as she opened the door so they could both go in.

“What was up with him?”, he asked.

“He is the scummiest of my brothers always trying to get me to give him money as if I was the one completely loaded.”, she said. “This time ironically he was trying to blackmail me.”

“With what?”, he asked.

“You.”, she replied with a laugh.

“Pardon?”, Nikolaus asked.

“Someone from the bar last night told him I was there with some guy.”, she said.

“And that is a reason to blackmail you?”, Nikolaus asked.

“No. not at all. My family or some of my siblings think because I went away to college or because I work hard for what I have, or more importantly because of Lou I have turned my back on the way we grew up. Like I would be slumming it up, as he said if I go out or want to be friends with anyone who wasn’t elite. That is so not true. I just don’t like my family not what my family did for jobs.”, she answered. “They think I became a snob.”

“You are the least snobby snob I know.”, Nikolaus laughed. “Are all you siblings like that?”

“Not all but most of them, yes.”, she said. “They are the biggest snobs I know, to be honest. I could have not done anything with my life. I don’t have to work, not really. I chose to work because I makes me feel like I am doing something. It may not be important to anyone else, but it is to me. I like to think that I bring some peace to the people I identify and maybe closure to their families if they are still around.”

“I think what you do is rather impressive,” Nikolas said. He looked at the coffee table and saw the skull. “Do you often bring your work home with you?”

“No this ironically was my present.”, she said.

“Someone sent you this?”, he asked.  He reached out to hold it but stopped in mid-air. “Can I?”

“Go ahead. I am sure he won’t bite.”, she said as she smiled and she saw the way he picked up the skull. He was so gentle in the lifting of it, and as he had it eye level, he turned it just for a second, and she saw it. She saw why the skull didn’t fit any of the parameters. She saw why Nikolaus seemed so familiar. She saw it all. Her eyes went wide and then she saw a flash of what appeared to be a mist rising in back of Nikolaus. Whatever was going on was too much, and she wondered if she was still asleep and this was a dream.

She pitched herself just to make sure. It hurt a lot. She wasn’t going to try anything else. She knew this was all connected. The timing of Nikolaus asking her out, the arrival of the skulls and bones, all of it. It was overwhelming, and she started to breath deeper to try to catch her breath which seemed too hard to do. Nikolas saw that hard time she was having and placed the skull down and bent down to her. He kneeled before her as he tried to get her to slow her breathing.

“Princess. It is okay.”, he said softly as he rubbed her back as he reached around her. She tried to focus on something, but everything seemed to be out of focus. “Sweetheart breathe, in and out. Slowly. Honey you should place you head down. Slowly in and out.” His deep voice was keeping her focused. She had never had an attack like this one before. Everything was getting clearer. She listened to his instructions as he calmly let her find her own feet in this and his hand slowly moved up and down her back. She tried to sit up again, and she just looked at him. She must have been wide-eyed. “Princess you look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I may have.”, she whispered.

“What?”, he asked as she had not spoken very loud as she tried to find her voice again.

 “Nothing.”, she said as she tried to smile. “I have never had that happen before. “The second time today you saved me.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”, he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”, she said as she went to stand up. “I have a question for you?”

“Shoot.”, he said.

“Are you by chance descendant from someone in Japan?”, she asked. “Or some other Asian country?”

“That is a different question that I don’t get asked a lot.”, he chuckled, “I mean the bloodline has been diluted so much that there are no Asian features left.”

“So you are?”, she asked.

“How did you know?”, he asked. “It was my like fifteenth great grandfather on my mother’s side.”

“Bones don’t lie.”, she said with a smile. “When all else fails for me I revert back to bones.”

“Fails?”, he asked.

“I couldn’t breathe.”, she said. “I focused on bones.”

“I see.”, he said with a slight grin. “So who is this guy?”

“That I don’t know for sure, but I think his initials are M and A.,” she said. “I hope to figure it out with the new place.”

“M and A. that’s weird.”, Nikolaus said.

“Why what is so weird about that?”, she asked.

“That grandfather. He was the Samurai who killed Nobunaga Oda. His name was Mitsuhide Akechi. They never found his bones.”, Nikolaus said.

“That chances of it being him are slim to none, but that would be really weird.”, she said with a small smile.

“That is true. I don’t know why anyone would want to send you his bones either.”, he said as he moved to the couch instead of crowding around her. She looked at the skull and then the box next to his crate. If that was Mitsuhide Akechi, who was in the other box? How would she even be able to prove it if she thought it was. She then looked at Nikolas, and she had no doubt. The skull she was sent was related to him; there was no question in her mind. When things calmed down, she would ask him to give her a sample of DNA. I mean they were friends if nothing else. She didn’t know what that was really like either. He might be her only friend at the moment. She smiled and watched him as he looked at the skull on the table. It looked like he was trying to figure out something too.

#ikemen sengoku inspired sort of #akechi mitsuhide

[houseofmysojourn]

A Woman with Advanced Degrees in Bible - Looking for a Call, Part I

This is Part I of three posts where I’m trying to figure out who I am in the world, and how to make my life useful to God’s work. In Part I, I will deal with the church side of my difficulty, in Part II I will deal with the academy side, and in Part III I will circle back to church again, because in the end I’m convinced that the church is always where it begins and ends. This conviction is part of my problem, though I pray to God that in the end it will prove to be part of my solution too. 

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

Right now, I find myself just wanting to be called. I'm realizing that I want to serve the church, now more than ever, but I'm not confident that I really matter there or that my gifts are significant. And a lot of this, I know, is due to my gender. When I listen deeply to the church, the highest call I hear on my life is to get married and raise babies. The fact that this has not happened yet is painful and at times confusing. There doesn't seem to be a category for the many women like myself, and there doesn't usually seem to be any type of a call except to wait and hope for the best. This is because single folks are often not being challenged to serve in ways that are meaningful. We are being treated more like consumers than like members, and it may be that what single people need most is to be a member and to have purpose. And that means being called to serve. 

When anyone in the church is treated like a consumer, church becomes one of many options on the vast smorgasbord of weekly activities that may or may not seem to fit with my identity, my preferences, my feelings, and what I think is most important in life. We treat people like consumers when we treat our services like...well...services. Like going to the salon or to the movies, church offers me a service which I sit and receive in a highly transactional manner. It would be unthinkable to challenge me to get up and serve. It would be like the hairdresser asking me to sweep up the floor. In many churches, to challenge one another to service in the church or in the church’s mission to the community is seen as almost as much of a faux pas. And I'm sorry to say that I'm not convinced that many of the church's leaders care, so long as the pews are warmed, the offering plates are filled, and the feeling of "successful ministry" is maintained. Some of them may even think that this how to maintain it! I almost wonder if they’re afraid that people who serve for free will put them out of the job.

And so we so often do not challenge people, especially single people, to live in to any sort of family or membership role. People can come and go without ever feeling that their presence is necessary, and in some cases, without feeling that it is wanted either. For single people, this is especially poignant, and the messages that the church promotes about family and relationships do little to help.

By contrast, in a family, every person ought to know that they have a purpose and that they are needed and wanted. In a family, it is not uncommon for one person to ask another to help with the sweeping. In a healthy family, those -- like children -- who would seem the least useful are showered with the highest degree of praise and assurance that they are wanted and necessary anyway. In a healthy family, each person has intrinsic worth simply for being who they are; and yet, in a healthy family, everyone who is able should also know that they have a purpose and that their work matters to the life of the family. While everyone has intrinsic worth whether they are useful or not, in a family there is the freedom to ask for help and to challenge members to step up. Fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters get joy out of serving one another. It is wonderful to cook a meal and to know that you have meaningfully blessed your family. It is wonderful to clean and to know that you are helping to make a home for your family. And to be asked, "Can you make those cookies again? They were amazing!" is not a burden, but a delight and a compliment.

Everyone, especially in our society, is seeking purpose. For husbands, wives, and parents, some level of that purpose is still given and this is the route for finding purpose which perhaps seems easiest and safest for the church to push (this is partly because we seem to think that sexuality is more easily contained in a family, and because we seem to think that true and healthy abstinence is only possible for a few spiritual elites -- but this is another topic for another time). It is our culture's way of seeking fidelity and intimacy when social individualism rules. But for single people, especially in the church, the idea of purpose is often nebulous and far off. We start to feel that if we are free to go anywhere, to choose any church that suits us, to choose any career path we like, then we might as well go nowhere and choose nothing. If I am free to sit in a pew week after week, and come and go as I please, then why show up beyond any potential consumerist pleasure? If I am not being, in some way, "called" to meaning and purpose then why bother? If it's just another transaction among the hundreds I make every year, why should I care? I can probably hear better music and get a deeper sense of camaraderie elsewhere.

Oh we want so desperately to be needed! We want to know that our life matters, and that it matters to people, people who can be blessed by our presence and who will miss something in our absence.

The too-often-hidden truth is that this is always the case, that in God's eyes we are all full of meaning and intrinsic worth, and all endowed with the capacity to bless others by our lives. If this were not so, then it would not be so painful to see that truth so often obscured, and sometimes even outright denied, by the church. We seem to think that the church is not a family in itself, but rather a kind of scaffolding to real families, and the implication is that single people don't have real families. Families need churches just like they need schools and movie theaters and hair salons. But who needs single people? Who is calling us, challenging us to service, letting us know that we are missed?

For some, it is the random guy they keep seeing at the coffee shop, who keeps asking for a number and keeps saying by his attention, "You are wanted here." For others, it is a high-paced career in which they can succeed, in which their supervisors affirm their talent and in which they are told they are worth something, with the almost undeniable proof given in cold hard cash. For others still, it is fashion or music or art or any number of other identity-markers, ways of getting others to nod approvingly and say "you belong." 

There are millions of ways to seek and get worth and purpose, and there are even more ways to distract ourselves from the fear that we don't have it. For some, it is the actors on the screen, playing out the kinds of fantasies that overwhelm the senses and make the question of worth irrelevant, at least for a moment. For others, it is the drugs and the drug culture. For others still, it is Netflix, or food, or drink, or going out. For most of us, it is many of these things calling us all at once, offering significance, or as a next-best option, distraction from the fear of insignificance.

And of course, it is almost all false. In most of these cases, when we give in, we are contributing to the very system of consumer thought and action that leaves us feeling so insignificant, with thousands of options, limitless "freedom," and no real call to say we’re worth something.

This is the first and, up until recently, the most significant pain of my life in the church. The church does not usually offer the alternative family of the Kingdom in a way that is clear and revelatory to single people. This is especially true for single women.

In my case, in addition to dozens of other smaller (though no less devastating) calls in advertising and society, it is the academy which calls, and it has such a pleasant-sounding voice! It is classy, it is almost universally revered, it offers a future of money, and esteem, and maybe even a sort of fame. It can feel clean and pure, and noble, and good, and can be affirmed by almost everybody.  

Even folks at church will cheer for me if I answer this call. They'll cheer for a representative of "true Christianity" (whatever it is they mean by that) in the hallowed halls of higher learning. They'll cheer because they think I prove to the world that Christians can be intellectual too. But I have no interest in proving any of those damn things.

For two years, my time at Duke has really made me doubt my capabilities in almost all areas of my life (it has a way of doing that to everybody). This has been part of what’s made the place so hard; but then, over the past couple of weeks, I have heard the following “calls”:

"You certainly have talent for it. If you want to discuss doctoral work over the summer, please give me a call.”

"Of course you can write a dissertation! You have clear, insightful thought and are a good writer. It never even occurred to me that you would doubt it!"

"You could do almost anything -- you just have to figure out what you want."

"I don't think you'll lack for jobs."

"I think your perspective is one that needs to be heard."

Up until this last week, I really wasn’t sure. And certainly it is gratifying when some of the country's most well-known theologians and scholars give that kind of praise. They are, collectively, saying, "Come be one of us!" At this point, they are inviting me to become one of their colleagues. They believe in me, they are telling me that I'm wanted and that I have a purpose. In some ways, it's what I came to Duke to hear (wish I could've heard it sooner, like at any point in the last two doubtful years...but I digress.)

And yet, it is a call as insidious as it is attractive, and that is the greatest and most difficult lesson I have learned here. Just because I can does not at all mean that I should. It is insidious because it offers a lot in the way of worldly wealth and honor, and because this means it's deceptive power is incredibly strong, almost unbreakable. To break through it at all is to pass a camel through the eye of a needle. More on this in Part II. 

[gracewithducks]

An Inch of Grace (Genesis 37:1-4, 12, 18-27)

When I was preparing to become a pastor, we did all the things that you’d expect budding pastors to do: we studied the bible, and theology, and church history, and pastoral care, and prayer practices. We even, eventually, learned a little bit about how to make a budget and how to run a meeting and how to get your church conference paperwork done without losing your religion. But one of the things that surprised me, that I wasn’t really expecting to do, was some very interesting work in family systems theory.

 Family systems theory says, basically, that your family of origin shapes who you are, and by examining your family’s systems and stories, you can better understand who you are and decide who you want to be. Your family of origin is the family that you come from: your parents, and step-parents, and grandparents, your siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles: the important people who, for better or for worse, have helped to shape your life and make you who you are. What might it mean for you to have grown up as the oldest or the youngest or the only child, to have been close to your cousins or estranged from your parents, to live through divorces or deaths, to consider patterns of mental health problems and addiction and all the other pieces that come together to shape our stories.

 The conversations surprised me because, by the time we’re adults, we like to think that we’ve made ourselves who we are – that we’ve outgrown the baggage of being the punchline for our brother’s jokes or listening to our parents fight. But the reality is, while we can grow and we can heal from our hurts, we also carry them with us… and when we sit through a meeting where conflict escalates to fighting, or when we are hurt by an offhanded comment by someone we trust, all those old insecurities can come rushing right back in.

 When I sit with couples who are preparing for marriage, I always ask them: tell me about your family. Tell me about your parents. Not because we’re destined to become them, but because what we’ve seen, what we’ve experienced, shapes and impacts who we become - for better and for worse.

 Every time I open my mouth and my mother comes out – or, for that matter, every time Michaela opens her mouth and I hear my own voice come out – I am reminded just how true it is. Our families shape us: our expectations, our traditions, our legacies are powerful indeed.

 Today we continue the story of the first family of family, the family we meet in the book of Genesis. And today we are reminded that family traditions transcend generations… and unfortunately, in this family, the legacy that’s handed down is a legacy of rivalry, and scarcity, and competition even to death.

 Today we meet Joseph, whose grandfather Isaac was pitted against his half-brother Ishmael, until their parents decided there was room for only one son in their hearts and in their homes… and Ishmael was sent into the wilderness to die, never spoke of again.

 Joseph’s father, Isaac’s son Jacob, was one of two brothers, twins, who were at war even in the womb. And as they grew, each parent picked a favorite twin; the family was split in half, taking sides, and Jacob tricked and stole from his brother, and his brother plotted to kill Jacob, and Jacob had to run away to survive.

 And Joseph’s mother, Rachel, was one of two sisters, each pitted against each other, constantly being compared to each other, always wanting what the other has, neither one ever being content or ever feeling safe and secure in her own self.

 These are Joseph’s parents: two people whose sibling rivalries destroyed their own lives. You’d think that Jacob and Rachel would know better, that they would be able to look back at the devastation that their parents playing favorites had wreaked in their own lives. You’d like to think that they’d be determined to do better by their own kids – and maybe they were, but it was just too hard for them. Or maybe they couldn’t even recognize how they were repeating their parents’ and grandparents’ mistakes; they were so steeped in the old family ways, so steeped in that climate of competition, that it was impossible for them not to pass their rivalries and jealousy on to the next generation.

 By the time Joseph is born, Jacob already has ten sons: most of them by Rachel’s sister Leah, the unwanted wife, and a few through Rachel and Leah’s surrogates, who were drawn into the sisters’ rivalry. Rachel was always jealous of Leah’s sons; Leah was always jealous because Rachel had Jacob’s heart… and the two women used their children as pawns, as markers on the scorecard where they were both trying to win.

 Finally, after years and years of desperation and disappointment, finally, son number 11 is born: and he’s Jacob’s eleventh boy, but he’s the first from Rachel’s womb. And because he is the son of his most beloved wife, little Joseph becomes his father’s favorite, too.

 How quickly Jacob forgets! How quickly he forgets how much it pained him when his father favored his brother and ignored him; how quickly he forgets how his mother’s preference for the younger son had torn the family apart. He forgets how he had to run for his life, because when he was growing up, his parents did not have enough love to go around.

 Jacob forgets. Jacob forgets, and he starts down the exact same road: he is so taken by Joseph, his miracle son, the son of his favorite wife, son of his old age… that he showers gifts and favors on Joseph, much to the pain and frustration of the ten forgotten older boys.

 It doesn’t help matters that Joseph really does seem to be special. He’s a dreamer; just like his father once met God in a dream, Joseph starts to have dreams of the future, and the way that things one day will be. But he’s young, and he’s spoiled, and he’s as oblivious as his father to his brothers’ resentment… so he uses his dreams, his gifts, to beat his brothers down even more.

 And they start to hate him for it.

 And then Jacob gives Joseph a coat. It’s a new coat – which is really saying something, because in a family with ten older brothers, you have to bet that hand-me-downs are the norm. Joseph should be running around in patched and threadbare clothes, but instead, his father gives him something entirely his own, a coat that’s brand new.

 And this coat is special: different translations give us different reasons why – perhaps it’s a coat of many colors, a beautiful piece of artwork, a coat that is meant to be admired, to draw attention to its wearer; a coat that is so lovely it certainly can’t be worn out to work in the fields. Or perhaps it’s simply a long coat, a coat with long sleeves – which may not seem so special, except that you would never wear a long-sleeved coat to do an honest day’s work; it would be ruined. Colorful coats and long sleeves were for those who were privileged or pampered enough to avoid hard labor…

 …and for Joseph’s brothers, who have spent their whole lifetimes in hard labor for their father’s sake, this coat is salt in their wounds; it’s the last straw. They’ve had it with this spoiled little brat of a brother; they’re done.

 Cain killed Abel; the relationship of the two first brothers in history ended in death. And Ishmael was sent to die, and Jacob had to run from his brother’s murderous plot… and the story repeats itself again. Joseph’s brothers start looking for a chance to get rid of him.

 Another generation turns to violence and death, because of jealousy, because of sibling rivalries, because there just isn’t enough love to go around.

 This is the generation that will either make or break Abraham’s family story. God called Abraham, and promised to make his family a great nation, and through them, to bless all the families of the world. God called them to look beyond themselves, to trust in God’s abundance, and to be a part of making a world full of justice and compassion and grace. But so far, all they’ve managed to do is turn on one another; instead of abundant and overflowing blessings, they’ve fought for scraps which never seem to be enough. We’re getting close to the end of Genesis: this could be where it all ends. This messed-up family is running out of time.

 When Joseph comes out into the fields in his fancy coat, his brothers are enraged, and they throw him a pit. This, I think, has to be where, for Joseph, it all comes crashing down. This is where he realizes that all his dreams, his comfortable and sheltered life, are in fact incredibly fragile, nothing but a house of cards on a foundation of clouds. As he sits in the pit, hearing his brothers up above debating how best to get away with his murder – it has to feel, to him, like the end.

 He has fallen, in an instant; he has reaped what he didn’t even know he was sowing; he has come into the family inheritance of bitterness and pain. And all his dreams: his dreams of power and glory and changing the world – all his dreams are going down the drain.

 Meanwhile, Joseph’s brothers are debating, trying to figure out what to do. And interestingly enough, it’s Rueben, the oldest son, Leah’s firstborn, who speaks grace and encourages his brothers to show some restraint. Rueben is the one whose inheritance and place in the family is most threatened by the blatant favoritism his father shows Joseph, but Rueben is also the one who says: wait. Let’s not kill him.

 Rueben shows grace. I don’t know why, but I find a lot of hope in this fact: we always remember Joseph as the hero, but it’s Rueben, in this moment, who starts to turn the family story around. He starts looking for another solution than violence and death. He starts trying to figure out a way that all his brothers – even the one he hates – that they all might prosper and live.

 Rueben shows grace… but he is surrounded by nine other angry brothers hungry for vengeance. While Rueben is trying to figure out how to get his brother out of the pit and back home safely, is brothers come up with another plan: Let’s not kill Joseph, they decide; what’s the gain in that? Let’s just tell dad he’s dead, and let’s sell him as a slave instead.

 Not exactly a resounding and shining moment, but it’s a start, and in this case, it’s enough mercy that God can work with it. The story isn’t over yet.

 To Jacob, I’m sure, it still seems like his dreaming his over. And in truth, his life will continue to be a cycle of up and down, rising high and falling low, rising higher only to fall farther still. It isn’t the first time it feels like everything is lost, and it won’t be the last time he watches it all slip away - - but the story isn’t over yet.

 And that’s the thing about God’s dream, to bless all the families of the earth, to create a new community built on justice and grace – it’s a fragile one, and there are times it seems like it’s a pipe dream, a hopeless fantasy, slipping through our fingers and drifting away.

 There are times when we know how Joseph must have felt in that pit: hopeless and lost, sure that it’s all over. This is where our story ends.

 But consider the power of one person willing to speak mercy, even just a mustard seed of compassion, an inch of grace – enough to open the door to hope once more, enough for God to creep in and remind us: it’s not over yet.

 We can be that person. We can be that voice of compassion; we can be the one who says, don’t let it end here, not like this.

 And we may not get it all right. We may not be perfect. Rueben wasn’t. He was still hurt by his father’s preference for his brother, and he was also too afraid to speak the truth, willing to let his father believe that Joseph was dead rather than let their father hate all the brothers all the more for selling Joseph away. Rueben wasn’t perfect. But let’s not belittle what he did do: he did what he could. He offered enough mercy to keep the story going: and sometimes, by God’s grace, that’s enough.

 We are all shaped by our family traditions: from grandfather clocks to casserole recipes and Christmas stockings and stories we tell over and over again, we are shaped by our families; there is so much we do in our lives just because it’s what we’ve been taught, what we’ve learned: “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 We are shaped by our families, but the very impact that our heritage has on us means that we are powerful, because what we do can shape generations still to come. Our decisions, our actions and our choices, can make new traditions; we can be the ones to teach future generations, “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 There has been a lot of talk about heritage and history lately. And we need to know our history, we need to have our eyes opened to what we’ve inherited – so that we don’t just keep repeating it, over and over again. We can make a new future; we can make a new way. In our homes, in our families, in our church, in our nation – we can be the ones who speak grace. We can be the ones who offer compassion. We can be the ones who open the door for God to turn it all around.

 It’s not over yet. Thanks be to God.

  God, you know how our families and our stories have made us who we are. For all that has blessed us, we are so thankful. We thank you for favorite recipes, for jokes that still make us laugh, for traditions and stories that keep us grounded, that keep alive our connections with family members who have passed away and those generations still to come. But God, you also know that our heritages and stories aren’t always good ones. We carry in us the weight of the choices our parents have made, the baggage of their mistakes as well as our own. And sometimes we find ourselves, without even realizing it, repeating the same old mistakes over and over and over again. Help us to believe that you really are a God of resurrections, of transformations and new beginnings: and if we let you, you will help us write a new story. Give us the courage to speak as much hope, to offer as much mercy, as we can – to choose who we will be, and begin to create traditions and a heritage of grace. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

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

This sermon has marinated in Jessica LaGrone’s reflections on Joseph in her book Broken and Blessed: God Changes the World One Person and One Family at a Time. Though some readers may be distracted by the consistent male language for God, LaGrone nevertheless offers great depth of insights in the lives and lessons of the first family of the bible, and I am grateful for her work.

[g0dblessthefandom]

Brittana Valentine’s Semi AU (Updated Daily Until Valentine’s Day) February 10, 2017

February 10, 2017

“Teenage Dream?! How cheesy is that?” Sugar put her head on her desk as she laughed. “You are so lame.”

“Laugh all you want, Sugar.” Santana said. “But I’m doing the most romantically epic lead up to Valentine’s Day that anyone has ever seen. Meanwhile, your girlfriend is noticing. Do you really think your Sugar Motta brand Valentine’s gift will suffice? Good luck getting lucky any time in the foreseeable future.”

Sugar stopped laughing and her eyes darted quickly from side to side. A moment later the realization that Santana was probably telling the truth hit her.

“Goddammit, Lopez.”

Santana stuck out her tongue at Sugar. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to regale you with stories about how I’m sweeping Brittany Susan Pierce off her feet, which I totally am, I came here to tell you about my interview with Vogue.”

“Oh yeah.” Sugar said, absently fiddling with the knobs of the gigantic control board that sat in the corner of her office. “How’d that go?”

“Well, you know I was working at that advertising firm for a while out in LA. It was probably the one job out of all the temp ones that I actually liked. I figure I’ve got an eye for knowing what people want. Sex sells, all that.”

“Are you going to get a job being one of those ladies that lounges on Ferraris and stuff?” Sugar said dreamily. “I’m actually kind of getting into the idea.”

Santana snapped her fingers a few times in Sugar’s direction. “Snap out of it, Sugar, that is a hundred percent not what’s going on.”

“Seems like a waste.” She said in a sing song voice.

“Anyway, I met with their head of PR, cause Kurt’s got the hookup, and they’ve got a spot for me! I start next week.”

Sugar clapped her hands excitedly. “Congrats! We’ll have to have a party! I’ll invite everybody, and we’ll get Daddy’s yacht brought up from Jersey and hit the bay!”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Sugar. Super baller, but not necessary. Just in case, keep it in your back pocket.”

Sugar nodded excitedly.

“But, in the meantime, I’m seeing Brittany again tonight.”

Sugar cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t it weird? Brittany seeing you and that guy at the same time?”

“I dunno, I don’t think about it.” Santana shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like they’re married or something. And as far as Mercedes knows they’ve only been on a handful of dates. Anyway, we don’t talk about it.”

“You’re not worried that it might become an issue? He can’t be happy that the woman he’s seeing is seeing her ex at the same time.”

“Are you trying to stress me out, Sugar?”

“No, sorry, my bad. Just something to think about.”

“I spend most of my time trying not to think about it, so... “

“Fair. So, what have you got planned for today?”

“It’s a surprise, but Mercedes is helping me out.” She began ticking points off on her fingers. “Mercedes is my number one on this project. She knows people, she’s hella rich, and she’s strangely invested in seeing us back together.”

Sugar huffed. “I am all those things. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Because, unlike you Sugar, Mercedes can keep a secret. I tell you, and the next thing you know you’re giggling about it with Jane in front of Brittany’s office. Though I probably could have counted on Jane to keep you quiet.”

Sugar smiled wistfully. “Yeah, she’s good at shutting me up. She’s got this thing she does with her tongue-”

“No, no, no. I am not hearing that. I am not listening to it. I rebuke it.” Santana plugged her fingers in her ear.

“Fine, but the girl is hot, Santana.”

Santana shuddered a few times. She and Sugar had known each other too long. It was like she was little sister to her. The last thing she wanted to hear about was Sugar’s sex life. She was curious about her relationship with Jane.

“How’d you two meet, anyway? Like, what was the thing about her that made you pay attention?”

“Brittany hired her. She’s working on her MBA full time, and she’s been supporting herself since high school. Her parents kicked her out when they found out she was gay, so she paid her way through undergrad, and now she’s doing it again. Then Brittany met her at a mentor function, and basically hired her on the spot. You know Britt, Santana, she hates having people work for her, but she’s been without an assistant for so long, and things were piling up. The last one the school sent quit after a week because Brittany kept calling him in and drawing on him with markers.”

Santana laughed. She’d been the subject of that treatment once or twice. Brittany said it helped with her process, but Santana just thought it was a way to alleviate boredom.

“So, how’d Brittany know that Jane would stick around?”

“I think I figured that out pretty early. Jane doesn’t take shit from anybody, but she works harder than any person I’ve ever seen. She’s got this laser focus, and when she decides she wants to do something, she goes for it. It’s super impressive.”

“I can see that. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“I get it, but I don’t really, I guess? I’ve never had to really work hard for anything. The producing, it comes pretty easily to me, and the money and perks are great, but I know that I can drop it whenever I want, and I wouldn’t be destitute. Jane won’t even let me pay for her school. I really wanted to, you know? I told her I’d love to let her be able to work less, and spend more time with me. But she wants to do it for herself, she wants to have the pride that comes with it. And at first I didn’t understand it, but I’m starting to more and more.”

“That’s really cool, Sugar.”

“Can I tell you something I haven’t even told Mercedes yet?”

“Always.” Santana said, conspiratorially.

“I’m gonna to ask her to move in with me. I got a key made and everything. My daddy bought the place as a rental property a few years ago, so it’s all paid off. I think she’ll be fine with it. Rent is so expensive here anyway.”

“What do you think she’ll say?”

“I dunno. That’s probably why I haven’t asked her yet. Hell, I haven’t even told her I love her yet, but I’ve thought it a hundred times.”

“You’ve got it bad, Sug.”

“Right?!” Sugar sighed, stood up and stretched. “She’s, like, the best thing in my life right now. Besides you guys, of course.”

“Want my advice?”

“Always.” Sugar echoed.

Santana laughed. “I think you should just tell her how you feel. I think she might surprise you. Now, I’m not saying she’ll move in with you tomorrow, but I’ve talked with her. I know that she likes you. Which is a mystery to me, because I’ve known you for years, and I can barely stand you.”

“Oh please, Santana. If it weren’t for me, Brittana would never of existed.”

“How do you figure that?” Santana scoffed.

“Um, it was my planning of the Valentine’s Day thing at the Sugar Shack that got you guys making out on the dance floor. Hello?”

“Do you really think that was the first time we made out? That wasn’t even the first time we made out in front of other people.”

“Ah, but it was the first time you’d made out in front of other people as girlfriends.”

Santana looked like she wanted to argue, but she let Sugar have it. “Fine.”

“Does that mean that you’re going to tell me about your date plans for tonight?”

Santana slung her bag over her shoulder. “Nope! But, you have reminded me that I should head out. You’ll hear all about it from Mercedes at some point, I’m sure.”

“Whatever.” Sugar pouted.

Santana put an arm around her neck, and pulled Sugar towards her, semi-roughly. “You know you love it, nerd.” She planted a kiss on the top of Sugar’s head, and released her.

“See ya later.”

“See you, Santana, good luck.”

Sugar went back to her desk, and pulled open a drawer. Her house key sat inside, wrapped in a red ribbon. She eyed it for a few moments, and then closed the drawer with a sigh.

\

Santana sat nervously in the darkened apartment. She’d lit a few candles, to add to the atmosphere, but most of the lights were coming from the billboards and other apartments outside. The room was almost empty, save for what Santana had brought. She was glad though, it’d made things a lot easier to get set up. As she sat there, listening to the rattle of the chair as she wiggled her leg, she was wavered constantly between being elated, and texting Brittany and telling her not to come. This was probably her grandest gesture yet. She had gone back to the list of dates that she’d come up with when this all seemed like a good idea. She’d come up with the list on her way to NY, sitting next to an old couple who looked more in love than ever. She wanted to be that couple with Brittany one day, and in the meantime, she wanted to wow her.

The list was overly romantic, and a little excessive, but she’d decided to go on with it anyway, because a bad plan was better than no plan at all. Which is what brought her to tonight. To their first apartment away from Rachel and Kurt. Granted, she’d loved living with Kurtchel (something that she’d never admit to anyone out loud), she always felt at home with them, even when they were driving each other crazy. This was why, as much as she gave Rachel a hard time, she wouldn’t have wanted to be in the city without her.

But the apartment she stood in now, it was different. It was the place where she and Brittany finally felt like they could be themselves. It was also the place where more than once one of them had surprised the other one naked or wearing some very, very risky lingerie. Santana smiled at the memory, then shifted in her seat when she thought of what came immediately after.

She had worn pretty sexy lingerie, but it was under the dress she’d chosen for the night (red, Brittany always loved her in red). She’d curled her hair so that it tumbled over her shoulders, framing her face. She had put a lot of effort into pretending that she hadn’t tried, but a part of her really wanted to impress Brittany. Everyday closer to Valentine’s Day felt like another day closer to some important deadline. She couldn’t explain it, but there it was. She’d set the goalpost in her head, and now there was no changing, it wasn’t for lack of trying though.

A ding on the elevator alerted her to company, and she stood up, rubbing her hands over the dress a few times. She’d told Brittany that there was a surprise at this address, and to show up at eight, but beyond that, she hadn’t said much. A part of her wanted to play this as close to her chest as possible. Especially since she had only recently been thinking about cancelling the whole thing. She opened the hall door, and peered down. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Brittany step out of the elevator. She hadn’t told her to dress up, but as always, Brittany was a vision. She wore blue (the color that Santana said always made her eyes sparkle), with her hair down.

Santana waved her her from the doorway. “Hey! I’m here.”

“What is all this, Santana? I figured we’d be going out to dinner or something.” Brittany said, suspiciously.

“Well, that’s kind of it. I mean, we are out, and we’ll be having dinner. But, it’s more than that.”

Brittany came to a stop in front of the doorway, and looked at Santana seriously. “You know how I feel about surprises, Santana.”

“Yes, you love them.”

“That’s pretty accurate, actually.” Brittany laughed. “But on top of that, I like to know what they are as soon as possible.”

“I can help you out with that.” Santana stepped into the apartment, out of Brittany’s way, adjusting the dimmer to give them both a better view. “Voila.”

Brittany stepped into the room and gasped. Lined along the walls were hundreds of pictures of the two of them. Some were just Brittany and Santana, some had friends from high school or college. Some had Brittany’s little sister, Ashley, or Santana’s parents. They covered the walls and showcased every single era of their life since the moment they’d first met, in dance class together in middle school.

Brittany walked to the nearest wall and touched the corner of a photo. It was the two of them, plus Mercedes and Sugar when they’d broken off from the main group and formed their own glee club, the Troubletones.

In the picture, they stood on stage, their faces bathed in spotlight glow, holding their arms high as they finished a musical number. Brittany still remembered that night, the roar of the crowd, the feeling of invincibility. Also, the feeling that for the first time in a long time, they were actually being seen, instead of just fading into the background. She smiled to herself.

“This is amazing, Santana.” Brittany gestured to the room.

Santana reached out a hand to her. “It’s just the beginning. Come on.”

Brittany was surprised how quickly her hand reached out for Santana. She was worried that she might have hesitated, or thought too long, but as soon as she saw Santana’s hand reached out to her, her own moved of it’s own volition. She didn’t even have to think about it. The part that might have worried her was quickly shushed, and shoved to the back of her brain. Her hand fit into Santana’s just like it used to. Their fingers intertwined. She felt like she was home.

“Oh! Sorry.” Santana fumbled in her other pocket, pulling out a tiny remote. She hit a button and after a few moments the first strains of ‘I Second That Emotion’ began to play.

Brittany grinned. Santana had spent a few weeks one summer crafting what she called the perfect Motown playlist for her, and she sometimes still listened to it on repeat. This song was one of her favorites.

“I thought we could take a tour, enjoy some amazing music and…” She gestured towards the table she had set up in the corner. “Have some dinner afterwards. It’s this Italian place called Carmine’s. Sugar raves about it, but it probably won’t be as good as Breadstix.”

“I’ll try to keep an open mind.” Brittany laughed.

Santana tugged on Brittany’s hand, and lead her to another wall. “I guess we should start at the beginning of our Brittana journey. Middle school.”

Brittany settled into the warmth of Santana’s hand, and smiled again. “Let’s go, then.”

This is a fic that will update everyday until Valentine’s Day 2017. To truly enjoy please put on (Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You’ve Been Gone by Aretha Franklin. :P

FF.net link and Ao3 link.

#brittana #glee #fanfiction #brittany s. pierce #santana lopez #THE MOST ROMANTIC BB

[stampington]

Editor’s Roundup: Devon Warren’s Favorite Things

Greetings and salutations, Friends! I’m Devon, the managing editor for the Stampington & Company publications Prims, Take Ten, A Somerset Holiday, Somerset Home, and Art Journaling. Once deemed the quirkiest Stampington & Company editor by a former colleague, I embrace the world of wonder, magic, and extravagance as many artists in our community do. Here is a list of just a few of my favorite things:

  1.       Clowns

~Artwork by Renee Tousignant, Prims Summer 2017

Even though they are one of the number one fears across the country, inspiring nightmares and terror to many, clowns are one of my very favorite collectible items. From porcelain clowns to velvet clown portraits, I find them completely fascinating and am absolutely infatuated with their sweet, happy (possibly eerily happy) appearance! After having an email conversation with one of the artists who regularly submits to Prims, Renee Tousignant, I let it slip that I absolutely love clowns. From there, she created these loveable (and vaguely creepy) primitive clown dolls. I’m not picky when it comes to clowns, being a fan of more contemporary clowns like Bozo (or Stephen King’s Pennywise!), the hobo clowns of the earlier 20th century, and pantomime clowns like Pierrot equally.

~Artwork by Cheryl Foster, Prims Summer 2017

2.     The Wonders of the West Coast

~Artwork by Kaitlin Mendoza, Somerset Home Spring 2016

Be it rolling hills, the ocean, the desert, or woods, I love the wild wilderness. I have an especially strong connection with the beaches of Big Sur, which follows a path out of an enchanted forest to spectacular tide pools, and having grown up in Huntington Beach, I spent many days lounging on the beaches of the Pacific Ocean. My mother owns a flower shop in Laguna Beach and beautiful air ferns are a small reminder of being out in nature. When my day begins to get stressful, I meditate upon my favorite places, which are usually beaches along the coast of California. Some might not agree, but you know how the saying goes: The West Coast is the best coast!

3.       The Victorian Age

~Artwork by Devon Warren, A Somerset Holiday

While editing articles for Stampington & Company magazines, I’ve come across several artists who have mentioned feeling like she must have lived a past life as a Victorian — I’m right there with those artists! I have such a fascination with Victorians, from their style of dress and architecture to some of their more perturbing and macabre interests such as oddity shops and séances. Queen Victoria, who I have read countless books about, is one of my favorite historical figures, but I also have a bit of a crush on her royal consort, Prince Albert. I once read a book called “We Two: Victoria and Albert: Rulers, Partners, Rivals” (Ballantine Books, 2009) suggesting the Victorian Age should have really been called the Albertian Age for all the influence Prince Albert had over Queen Victoria’s reign. After all, he did introduce so many amazing traditions to the Western World: white wedding dresses, Christmas trees, and being present at the birth of your child being just a few! Some of my other favorite Victorians are Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, and Oscar Wilde. In the words of Freddy Mercury, “I want to live the Victorian life, surrounded by exquisite clutter!”

~Artwork by Bonnie Dula, Art Doll Quarterly Spring 2017

4.       Rainbows

~Artwork by Dina Wakley, Art Journaling Spring 2017

George Gordon, Lord Byron once said, “Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.” Some folks prefer neutral palettes, but I’m all about colors of the rainbow! Some of my favorite artwork is bold and bright, like Dyan Reaveley’s or Dina Wakley’s. Off-white, beige, and other neutrals may be soothing, but at the end of the day I really just long for a world full of vivid Technicolor, unicorn-esque color. Color brings daily reminders that life is full of magic!

5.       The Artist’s Journey

~Photograph by RhondaK, Unsplash

The road to making art can sometimes be a trying one, so I like uplifting articles and stories that reflect the struggle it can take to follow your dreams. There have been countless days where I felt like giving up, similar to many of the artists I read about, but then I encounter an inspirational article that gives me the drive to persevere. Life is not always kind; however, so many artists who contribute to our publications have been influenced by the most difficult times in their lives and have created from it. Some of them even go on to start their own businesses or more.

6.       Halloween

~Artwork by Ginny Lettorale, Prims Autumn 2017

I always love a reason to celebrate or have a party, but Halloween has a special place in my heart. When my sister and I were kids, our dad hand-cut a very wonderful set of tombstones and mummies (my sister and I were the models!) from wood and we spent the afternoon painting it. Dad was an engineer and he had a knack for coming up with amazing projects, but he loved decorating the yard for Halloween most. Of all the holidays, I find it the most exciting because it gives adults an excuse to dress up, eat pillowcases full of candy, and get into the spirit of the season — we definitely see a spirit or two in our publications when we are preparing for the Autumn releases of Stampington & Company magazines.

~Artwork by P.K. Gracia, Prims Autumn 2017

~Artwork by Sarah Donawerth, Take Ten Autumn 2017

~Artwork by Ginny Lettorale, Prims Autumn 2017

7.       Retro-Inspired Gadgetry , Whatchamacallits & Decor

~Artwork by Elaine G. Chu, GreenCraft Magazine Spring 2016

As a child of the 80s, I remember the final transition from record players to CD players. My parents played their records until they were out of date and sometime in the late 80s, they packed up their record player and box of records for good. I was so surprised when my sister bought me one of those teal Crowley record players for my past birthday. One of my favorite artist blogs to browse is Ashlee Park’s. She takes the vintage feeling of a freshly baked apple pie handmade by Grandma and repurposes it into a contemporary, cool, functional piece. In Somerset Home, she has shared many of her lovely pieces! GreenCraft Magazine has also always been one of my favorite publications because it focuses on taking old pieces and breathing new life into them.

8.       Stationery & Paper Art

~Artwork by L. Katherine Roberts, GreenCraft Magazine Spring 2016

I was lucky enough to have several especially memorable Christmases, but one of the best gifts I ever received was dad’s family bought me a brand new wooden desk and filled it to the brim with pens, notepads, markers, and more. Stationery is so much fun and possibly why Take Ten is so close to my heart — I have spent an arm and a leg purchasing pretty cards from all over, but it’s never as beautiful as the artwork sent in by our artists. Currently, I have boxes of “thank you” cards stored in my room, so now I just need to find a way to use it. Cavillini & Co. is one of my favorite companies for sticky notes, postcards, and other practical pieces.

  The post Editor’s Roundup: Devon Warren’s Favorite Things appeared first on Somerset Place: The Official Blog of Stampington & Company.

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