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 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.

If you could be any one of your OCs [BUT you have to go through the events of your story as them & their past & you can't change anything***] which OC would you be & why ?? [You also ofc get all their skills & knowledge. Even if it's not relevant to your story if you're like "Hes an amazing baker, it doesn't come up but he can" you are now an amazing baker too]

people are so weird about self insert ocs actually. like why wouldn't you want a made up little guy who's like you except cooler and they get to live all your fantasies? what are you afraid of? having fun? free yourself

12 days of loving my writing day 7: god

I ADORE this piece. It was incredible doing such a detailed exploration of the lore in A Quest of Cards and Calamity. World building normally isn’t my favourite thing to do, but this brought me so much joy. I love the whimsical, impersonal narration style. I can see this being told around a campfire to the children by a village elder some decades after the goddesses are banished

There are realms beyond the plane we know. They are filled with awesome creations beyond our comprehension that would break our very way of existence. Places such as these began differently than our home, with flashes instead of bangs, beginning existence with a whisper instead of a roar. They grew differently; some lasted a breath, others into forever, evolving into crabs or bears or unfathomable creatures, becoming as fragile as a bird’s bone or as powerful as a tsunami.

It is from one of these realms that our gods came from. Though they impart few secrets to our people, some priests have been given wisdom that they shared across the land. Four sisters were united under shared distaste for mundanity. They combined their great and awful power of battle, family, growth, and light, and traveled to our realm, a new playground to explore their abilities in an isolated setting.

In the beginning of their domination, the quartet was benevolent and generous. They lent their seemingly boundless magics to the people, growing crops, lighting nights, securing victories, and strengthening communities. A golden age began. Dedication and reverence was widespread, leading to an abundance of people that obtained the goddesses’ blessings, wielding powers lesser than theirs, but power nonetheless. Great acts were performed in their names for people across our plane, creating prosperity that has never been seen before or since. Impossible vines grew into their kingdom in the sky, where patrons visited and paid homage to the goddess’ greatness and were returned to the world below bearing gifts of gold and light bringing music. Enlightened thinkers battled against the pull of nothing that the overabundance of knowledge creates, and their victories brought back revolutionary theories improving the world before them.

As time wore on, the interest of the goddesses waned. They were not so generous with their boons, instead letting people fester in their ineptitude. When praised, sometimes they paid attention, granting year after year of bountiful harvests. But they were careless in their gifts, sometimes flooding the banks of rivers and drowning crops that the river otherwise provided for. Sometimes they forgot to send in the sun, letting part of the world fall into darkness for months on end until the people learned to live without it and stopped asking for help. While they never intended to hurt the people wholly sway to their every whim, their disinterest cost many lives and caused swaths of people to lose faith. Gifts were inherited among the people, and those carrying old blessings were heralded as heroes as they saved the ordinary from the wrathful apathy of the four goddesses.

As the people lost their faith, the goddesses grew bitter. They were empowered by belief and devotion. Heroes and all the other people grew in strength, numbers, and will. They boasted of their gifts, claiming independence from the goddesses. They paid for the arrogance dearly. A simple ungifted weaver who battled simple nature to create complex tapestries bragged about her skill and thus was transformed into a horrifying beast as payment. Light was woven into delightful displays, bringing awe to so many in ways beyond the goddess' previously shown skill that she was forgotten about. Cruelly, she stole the light she gifted back, leaving the people to fester in the darkness until a mighty hero stole it back. Heroes committed untellable feats and were whispered about in reverence across the land until their names became synonymous with legend.

They demanded more and more from those under their jurisdiction, demanding unmeetable standards that tore apart the continent. Tribute was wrenched from followers' hands and sacrificed to serve no purpose; communities were torn apart to feed an entrapped beast cursed to an existence torn between two forms. The world split between anger, indifference, and reverence. The goddesses expected absolutes in success and potential, and perpetual acknowledgement and inclusion. All were tortured with the inconstant moods of the goddesses, buffeted about by their rage.

Mighty champions arose to beat back their abuse. It took years of near endless travel, great leaps in strength and skill, and profound luck to reach their end goal. Finally, miraculously, they defeated the goddesses in an earth scarring battle. They banished the goddesses to another realm and never hurt the heroes’ home again.

But still there is a battle: are the hardships worth the destruction wrought by the goddesses, or should they stay away and out of our homes affairs forevermore?