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

REBLOG if you have amazing, talented WRITER friends.

Because I certainly do, and I love every single one of them and their work.

fireflies lighting up a rural Pennsylvania field at dusk

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.

For a prompt: celebrating a holiday that Isn’t Christmas?

Thank you for the prompt! Here is a quick piece that takes place not long after the banishment of the goddesses.

The village was halfway through preparations before anyone thought twice about what they were doing. The summer solstice was days away, and the biennial festival celebrating the goddess of light was tradition, but without the goddess, the festival seemed to lose its meaning.

What if she came back and saw she wasn’t honored? What if holding the festival wasted resources? What if her followers saw not holding the festival as blasphemous, or the great quester saw that holding the festival made their actions pointless? What if? What if? What if?

In the end, the villagers, after holding a meeting, decided to go ahead with the festival but disregarded the original intentions. The festival was for them, after all, and they entertained any excuse to come together.

In the head of the village’s house, Maggie braided and knotted reflective crystals into her family’s hair. Their clothing matched, as the four of them dressed in pastel thin cotton with gold embroidery along the hems and hiding the seams. Crystals on leather cords matched the crystals embedded in their hairstyles.

Ben hung up strings of crystals in his windows, setting mirrors on the sill and back wall to reflect sunlight to refract through the crystals. His hair was secured in a topknot tied with a crystal-studded strip of fabric.

Similarly, Alex littered the clearing outside their window with loose crystals, hiding them in the grass and trees to reflect light against the guard tower and into their room. Despite encouragement from their mother, they stayed home to watch the parade from the top of the tower. 

For once, no one seemed to mind when Cuckoo took casually strewn about crystals from around the village. In fact, when seeing her unadorned, the milliner even gifted her a leather pouch full of them. Guilt and uncharacteristic kindness ate at her until she used the present to decorate the hard-to-reach spots over town – roof awnings, the tops of light posts, and the tops of people’s heads when they weren’t looking.

The village was bright and cheery as the people marched about the streets. Gazes fixated upon the rainbows and bright patches on buildings and clothing and ground and animals as sunlight bounced off the crystals. They laughed and sang, brighter than the goddess of light ever was.

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