Do Ppl Actually Call Their Grandparents Grandma And Grandpa That Sounds So Weird

do ppl actually call their grandparents “grandma and grandpa” that sounds so weird

12 days of writer self love day 3: repulsed

I know, I know it’s late and out of order, but I’m kind of okay with that. At least it’s here. I really like this piece. I think I almost imagined myself in this situation if I hadn’t found out about my orientation when I did, or if my attraction turned out slightly different

It was an alien and unexpected feeling when it happened the first time. Bendis thought it was attraction, but when the other boy went to kiss him, his initial reaction was to pull away. The other boy, the baker’s son, Francesco, mirrored his action, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Are you okay?” Francesco asked, rubbing the back of Ben’s hand with his thumb.

Ben’s hand went tense under the contact, then relaxed somewhat stiffly. He nodded, swallowed once, then leaned in. “Fine. I’m fine,” they reassured, voice shaking. Francesco pretended not to notice. “Now what were we doing?”

As they kissed, Ben tried not to squirm at the contact and the sheer amount of fluids being exchanged. That night, he lay in a resting patch of his garden and shoveled dirt onto himself as he fell asleep watching the stars.

The next time it happened, they again tried to stifle their reaction. The bard was charismatic and patient, and frankly very good-looking. They’d laughed and joked together for hours, Ben lamenting his lost potential at a similar career path. Ben had even taken a day away from the apothecary to spend time with them.

“It was a pleasure getting to know you, Du Kahoari,” they said, as they raised Ben’s hand to their mouth and pressed a kiss on it.

Ben retracted his hand as calmly as possible, resisting the urge to wipe it on his skirt. Similarly, they hid the tremor in their voice. “Likewise. I wish you happy travels.”

The bard bowed, and as soon as Ben was out of their line of sight, he ran back to the apothecary to wash his hand.

The time after that it wasn’t even happening. It had been a months-long relationship with Sonya the blacksmith’s daughter, so it was bound to come up in conversation. She sat them down on the haybales behind her mother’s shop, taking their hands in her own.

“So, we’ve been together for a while,” she said, pausing to wait for Ben to nod. “So I think it’s time to talk about…”

Ben’s eyes glazed over. His hands went clammy and he pulled back. They tucked their knees against their chest. His breaths came in small bursts. “Say… say that again?”

“...? That’s what I feel like we should talk about,” Sonya said, cautiously now. She shuffled around to face him, careful not to brush their skin.

Swallowing hard, Ben opened his mouth, shut it. His adams apple bobbed again. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that,” he managed.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Sonya said, words rushed. “We can take as long as we need.”

Under his breath, Ben asked, “Is this what you want from a relationship?”

Sonya was caught off-guard and stopped moving towards Ben. “I- I think so?”

“Then I don’t think I can be with you,” choked Ben.

“Oh, um,” she stalled. “Are you sure?”

Ben hid his face in his knees. “No,” he said. “I’m not. And if you ask me again, I’ll do it. I’ll say yes. Because it’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

“Can I touch you?” Ben’s head snapped up at Sonya’s words. He nodded. She placed her hand on their back and rubbed circles into it. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ in any relationship. Relationships are whatever you make of them And if two people want different things, they can compromise. Sometimes that means they keep going as they are. Sometimes that means doing things differently. No one knows what they’re doing all the time. But if you think we don’t work, then we don’t work. That’s okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Okay?”

Ben nodded into his knees.

“Do you need space?”

They nodded again.

“Alright,” Sonya said, groaning as she stretched out of the haystack, pulling a few pieces of straw from where they stuck into her skirt. “I’ll be in my mother’s shop if you need me. And for what it’s worth, these last few months were amazing. I hope they were for you too.”

Shoulders curling inwards, Ben couldn’t bring themself to reply. All his partners, fleeting or long-lasting, affectionate and timid, had been so wonderful. There was no reason for him to feel like this. But he did, and it ate him up inside. They rolled over and screamed into the straw, trying to free himself of the fundamentally wrong feeling inside him.

Anyway if you see this you have to reblog and tag with a delight from ur day -- even the littlest thing counts

i love reading and writing fantasy and scifi (any fiction really) my adhd makes me keep my hands busy so I'm very good at knotted friendship bracelets and origami paper cranes. i love cartoon shows, especially with found family, and the gayer the better

Send me a description of yourself (hobbies, interests, a couple fun facts) and I’ll tell you which of my characters would fall madly in love with you.

Jameson Dye would think the world of you! Not only does he find the craft of writing to be such a precious and beautiful thing, he is fascinated by people who can create physical art with their hands and could watch them do their work all day. He adores his found family and is incredibly pansexual and full of love.

Similarly, Bunny always needs something to calm her down when the drugs carry her a little too far from reality, so she would be so happy just to sit and watch your hands make paper cranes (which would seem like actual magic to her). Her found family is the most important thing in the world to her, and she is the most queer a human being could possibly get.

12 days of writer self care day 5: flower

This is just so cute!! Maggie and Stella’s families are very involved in flowers, so i felt it would be perfect to write about them. this was such a joy to write and explore more character backstory

Stella’s papa knelt down and held a closed fist in front of her. “Open it,” he said.

Her tiny eyebrows knit together as she pulled at his fingers. They didn’t budge. She grunted and pulled harder, tongue poking out from between her teeth. His pinky budged, then his hand opened all-of-a-sudden. Cheering, Stella seized the small, thin, wooden box.

“‘Tis it?” she asked, struggling with the clasp on the lid.

Taking the box from her, opening it, the handing it back, Stella’s papa asked, “You know how I grow pretty things in the garden?”

Stella bounced on her toes, the contents of the box rattling. “Yeah!” she said. “With Maggie’s mummy and daddy.”

“That’s right. So I took some of the flowers and I mixed them with water,” he explained.

“Like I make potions!”

He grimaced, but continued, “Exactly. And I let them dry. So now if you take this magic wand-” he placed a paintbrush into her hand “- and you add water to the paints, you can make pretty pictures.”

Stella’s eyes widened. She dashed to the kitchen and dunked the box in the bucket of water. Stella’s papa raced behind her and fished the paints out. 

“How about I show you how to do it,” he said, shaking the water off.

“Okay!”

That’s how they spent their afternoon. He started Stella on paper, and when she seemed trustworthy enough to leave, he went back to the gardens to work. This was a mistake. When he and his husband came home, the walls were covered in paint up to their knees. As was Stella. The paint palette was empty, and she was in love.

A few years later, Stella was knee-deep in flowers. Dirt was caked under her fingernails, and laughter bubbled within her. Maggie sat beside her, gathering flowers too. Finally satisfied with her haul, she brought the bouquet back inside.

“Just these please,” Stella piped up, setting the flowers on the counter.

Maggie’s mama smiled and said, “Of course.”

She wrapped the flowers up with paper and handed them to Stella, who struggled to make eye contact, hindered by the bundle. “Thank you!” she said.

“Do you want me,” Maggie asked, blushing, “to walk you home.”

Stella’s cheeks went hot too. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

Their hands swung together as they walked back to Stella’s home where she would make her first batch of paints; Stella dropped some flowers without an extra hand to secure the bundle, but with Maggie picking them up she didn’t mind.

More years passed. Stella planned an outing with her lifelong best friend and longtime crush. She invited Maggie to go material gathering — she collected all her own art supplies and regularly ran out of paint. Ensuring she had express permission from her parents given Maggie’s delicate state, Stella was delighted when Maggie agreed to the invitation.

She took her to her favorite meadow an hour before sunset. Softly rolling hills were covered in a sea of green and orange and gold, swaying in the breeze. It was almost hypnotic. Bouncing on her toes to get a better look at the field, Stella finally tugged Maggie down to sit. She ran her hands through her hair, disrupting the carefully manicured state she’d put it in before the outing. Her hands twitched on her leg. 

Reaching out to run her thumb along the back of Stella’s hand, Maggie’s brow creased. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Stella melted. “I’m fine,” she said, lingering in Maggie’s grip. Jerking her chin towards the flowers, she said, “Well? Let’s get picking.”

Careful to guide their direction, Stella began filling the basket Maggie had woven for her last birthday. Maggie helped, though slower as she checked each flower met Stella’s approval. This was why she was doing this. 

Finally, the pair stepped into a flattened part of the meadow. The flowers were bent in the shape of a heart. At the top of the heart, between the bows, a large piece of paper rested. It was decorated with intricately painted flowers surrounding words in a curling script. It read “Will you be my beau?”

“I- you- for me?” Maggie stammered.

Stella stared pointedly at the raked earth beneath her feet. She nodded.

“Of course! I’d love to be!”

Maggie launched herself at Stella. They tumbled down the hillside, laughing until their sides ached. The flowers danced around them, bouncing in the warming light of a setting sun.