my dead grandfather

Fran and Jock

by reddit user Pippinacious/ tumblr user muricanmagpie

I was the last in a long line of grandkids on both sides of the family. No one has ever said as much, but I’m pretty sure I was an “oops” baby; the result of one too many glasses of wine and a couple over forty who thought unplanned pregnancies were for teens.

Oops.

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So, in English I should say “my great-grandfather was bisexual”, but French allows me to say “mon bisaïeul était bisexuel”, and I think that’s great!

Fran and Jock

I was the last in a long line of grandkids on both sides of the family. No one has ever said as much, but I’m pretty sure I was an “oops” baby; the result of one too many glasses of wine and a couple over forty who thought unplanned pregnancies were for teens.

Oops.

By the time I came along, both of my grandmothers had already passed away and my grandfathers were elderly and lived in different states. Trying to coordinate travel plans for a family of five, including an infant, was difficult on a budget and neither of my grandpas were up to frequent trips, so visits were rare and spaced out over long periods.

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so much of desi culture is about respecting your elders and obeying them unquestioningly, but we really REALLY need to talk about how abusive and bigoted so many of our grandparents were, how badly they fucked up our parents, and how we’re afraid to sit down and talk about their problems. 

Yiddish Lesson No. 1

Perhaps the professor is dead?
Perhaps the professor is just sleeping.
I’ll wait for him to wake. He’s just sleeping.
Perhaps the professor is—

The professor’s scalp is quite bald.
Perhaps the professor died yesterday?
We came a day too late. Class is over.
We must all teach ourselves from a book.

Perhaps the professor is dead.
Perhaps the professor is just sleeping.
Perhaps he’s ill. His cheeks pale still.
The hat can’t hide the fact of the fading.

Perhaps we were misled.
This was no professor, this man we mistook.
He’s too old to teach—a beggar, just look!
Perhaps the professor is—

Perhaps it is his world that is dead.
Perhaps it is quiet and bound, like a book.
Perhaps it breathes in books; but not here.
Perhaps the professor is—

Perhaps the professor is dead.
But if he starts to speak, after he’s woken
How can you trust his words, if they’re spoken
In a tongue that you know to be dead?

Perhaps my grandfather is dead, too
Perhaps my grandmother was just sleeping.
We went to wake them; now sing “El Maleh Rachamim.”
Perhaps the professor is—

Perhaps we will be dead.
The more we learn, we find ourselves weeping.
A conjugation taught is a resurrection, not.
Perhaps all grandmothers are just sleeping.

Perhaps his language is dead.
Perhaps some things are best left unspoken:
Will they refund my tuition? Is the whole world broken?
Perhaps the professor is—

Perhaps the professor is dead.
Perhaps his corpse has just been sleeping.
Perhaps it waits for flie to eat his eyes.

But perhaps the professor’s not dead.
Perhaps he will grow one more day older.
I hear no breath. Feel no beat. Skin’s colder.
Perhaps the professor is—

Bruce Wayne/Batman X Reader- She Seems Interesting (Part 3)

I’M BACK!! The writing camp was so much fun and I learned so much!!! I’m sorry for making you guys wait so long for my next fic, but the wait is now over!! Hopefully I’ll get back on schedule by tomorrow!!

She Seems Interesting, Part 2

Warning: Swearing, mentions of murder (The usual)

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Fran and Jock

by Pippinacious

I was the last in a long line of grandkids on both sides of the family. No one has ever said as much, but I’m pretty sure I was an “oops” baby; the result of one too many glasses of wine and a couple over forty who thought unplanned pregnancies were for teens.

Oops.

By the time I came along, both of my grandmothers had already passed away and my grandfathers were elderly and lived in different states. Trying to coordinate travel plans for a family of five, including an infant, was difficult on a budget and neither of my grandpas were up to frequent trips, so visits were rare and spaced out over long periods.

Still, both of my parents wanted me to have a relationship with them, so we’d trade phone calls so they could hear my nonsensical baby babble, they’d write me letters for Mom and Dad to read to me, and they’d get crayon scribbles in return.

When I was three, they both started to experience declines in health. First my maternal grandpa, then my paternal one. Fearing the worst, Mom purchased a pair of teddy bears, the kind that had recorders in them so you could record a message that would play when the bear was hugged, and made sure to get a message saved from both.

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10

Christopher Larkin as Hershel Greene-Rhee

You step outside, you risk your life. You take a drink of water, you risk your life. And nowadays you breathe, and you risk your life. Every moment now…you don’t have a choice. The only thing you can choose is what you are risking it for.

Death Is Not Permanent

Characters: Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson (mentioned)

Summary:  Death was not permanent in this family. Todd was proof of it. Father was proof of it. Damian himself, breathing when his lungs used to be silent, heart beating when it used to be still, was proof of it.
So why was it permanent for Grayson?

A/N:  For Halloween Content War. Day 6: Death.
Set in Grayson. Really, DC killed too much characters just to bring them back. And there’s not much content with Steph& Damian, but their dynamics are amazing…


Death was not permanent in this family. Todd was proof of it. Father was proof of it. Damian himself, breathing when his lungs used to be silent, heart beating when it used to be still, was proof of it.

So why was it permanent for Grayson?

Damian knew Father has the means to bring him back. His father was friends with the most powerful beings on earth, and some from beyond it. Father could revive Grayson. Father could bring Grayson back to life. He has done so for Damian. It can be done. It has been done.

Or did his father exhaust all of his favors to bring Damian back?

Did Father has to choose, which one of his sons he would bring back to live? Did Father chose Damian over Grayson, putting all of his resources to bring Damian back to live?

If Father did have the means to bring someone back from the dead, it should have been Grayson. Grayson was by far the better one. The better hero, the better son, the better person. But it was Damian whom Father chose. It was Damian, here and now, who was breathing.

Death was not permanent. Death was not permanent. So why was Grayson not here?

***

Damian would spend hours in front of Grayson’s tomb. He would simply stand there and look at the tombstone. It was plain, etched with name, date of birth, and date of death.

That date of death was not supposed to be so close to the date of birth. Grayson was supposed to have a long life, safe and happy. The date of death was supposed to still be able to be changed.

It could still be changed. It could.

Drake was the one who found him, hours later. Damian didn’t turn to face him. He kept looking at the tombstone. Grayson’s tombstone.

“Damian.”

Damian ignored Drake.

“Damian. It’s late.”

It didn’t matter if it was late. Grayson was dead. His tombstone was here. Grayson was dead.

“Damian. He’s not going to come back,” Damian heard Drake’s sigh. “You’re not going to bring him back by looking at his tombstone. Let’s go inside.”

Damian didn’t answer for a moment. Then he heard himself say,“ So how do I bring him back? How do I bring him back, Drake?”

“You can’t, Damian. You need to accept that he’s gone.”

“No.” Damian refused to believe that. Damian refused to accept that Grayson would leave him. Grayson had promised. He would not be gone. “There must be a way to bring him back.”

“You can’t, Damian.”

“What if I can? Would the universe accept a trade?”

“A trade? Damian, what are you talking about?” Damian could hear a tinge of panic in Drake’s voice.

“A soul trade. My life for his. Would the universe accept that?”

“Damian!” Drake immediately ran to him. “Don’t start that line of thought!”

“Would the universe accept that, Drake? A soul for another? What did you give for Father to return?” Damian asked.

Drake’s mouth hanged open. He tried to speak for a few times, but no words came out. Eventually, he ended up with this,“ Let’s get you inside, and we’ll deal with this, okay? Let’s just go inside.”

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anonymous asked:

are you gonna make a post about your vacation? i'd rly rly love to hear more about it!!

Maybe! I’m just very self conscious about talking about my family, though I will talk about this:

We spent 5 days having a traditional Nigerian burial ceremony for my dead grandfather.

To make it quick, he was assassinated 50 years ago and was a big deal in the community, but my grandma/his wife refused to do a proper burial ceremony bc not only was her husband killed but her brother as well.

I’ve never been to one before and it was a mixture of wonderful and horrifying. The horrifying aspect was the fact that there were masquerades roaming the streets (search up Nigerian masquerades if you want to know more abt them) which isn’t uncommon but still freaky. I have videos of them.

It was really amazing and beautiful and I really got emotional over it, my grandfather pretty much shaped and helped various communities, villages and family.

It was cool to experience it.

hmmm kinda wanna go sit in the coffeeshop near my house and people watch

hmmm kinda don’t wanna get cat called by someone old enough to be my dead grandfather on my first day of winter break

Thank You, Dad. For Everything

by DoubleDoorBastard

My father was a quiet man when I was growing up.

He wasn’t cruel or cold, he wasn’t neglectful, he was just quiet. When he did speak, he did so in a mild, soft-spoken tone, the audio equivalent of tofu. It was the voice of a man who just hated stepping on anyone’s toes.

Mum died during childbirth, so he had to bring me up all on his own. Looking at my life now, I’d like to believe that he did a good job laying the groundwork for the person I’d go on to become - I think that’s a fact a lot of people like to ignore. I had the privilege of being shaped by my childhood, for some people adult life is just the process of getting over it.

We waste too much time in life paying for mistakes we never made, and forgetting or overwriting relationships we never asked for.

I’m a truly lucky individual to be able to say that this isn’t the case for me.

Like most people, my childhood is a blur, with a few notable snapshots floating at the surface of the mist. The older you are, the thicker that mist gets, until all the photos of the past look faded and distorted. It’s not a long story that I’m here to tell today, but it’s one that warrants telling before the snapshot fades.

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anonymous asked:

the real cring is when they say "omo~" in that nasal voice. dude how hard is it say OMG instead? Let's not frgt "oppa". Like i dont get it! "oppa i lub u" ?! why? just " i luv u" wont suffice???

oppa will never make me not cringe bc in,german, grandpa is “opa” pronounced literally exactly the same. so every time i hear “oppa” i think of my dead grandfather cykfj. but i also hate “omo” like fungko STOP

My grandfather is dead.

I’m on sick leave from work, meaning next to no income.

I’m honestly shocked nobody took my kids away from me yet.

I’m currently a mess. But if anyone is willing to commision a fic from me, I’ll give it my best.

I hate to do this.

But I have to survive somehow.