her grandmother's daughter

You need to understand how it must feel that your grandmother, whose mother’s soles were worn from walking through the desert, who burnt her face with cigarette butts so she wouldn’t be raped by Turkish soldiers, who watched as her newborn baby was torn from her arms and thrown into the sand by Turkish soldiers, and whose body was slowly mutilated (cut open) in front of her daughter (my grandmother), is still hearing denial about the Armenian Genocide, the denial of her mother’s sufferings, the denial of her mother’s brutal murder, the denial of her little brother’s murder, all which she witnessed right in front of her eyes.

Sirius Black Imagine: “July baby”

Hi! Can you do an Siriusx reader imagine where the reader has given birth to a baby girl in the month of July. Sirius is freaking out while in hiding about the whole Voldemort thing and his family. (Plus reader is a muggle-born witch)

Requested by anon

Notes: some angst, muggleborn witch reader

[y/b/g/n]= your baby girl’s name


[Y/b/g/n] Black woke up her parents in the middle of the night. [Y/n] offered to comfort their little baby, as Sirius had gotten home really late after an Order meeting. She sang a lullaby she had learnt from her grandmother and put her daughter back to sleep. It always worked and it served to appease not only the child, but herself as well. When the witch returned to her bedroom, she noticed her significant other was sitting on the bed. His lips were closed thin, forming a straight line, and his brow was furrowed in deep preoccupation. His eyes were looking at the infinity, as if he was lost in his thoughts.

“Sirius? Are you alright?”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance, but the lines on his face still showed concern and anxiety. He swallowed hard and assured, “Yeah, babe. Everything’s fine. Let’s go back to sleep, come on.”

[Y/n] wasn’t having any of it. She simply raised an eyebrow at him, telling him without words that she wasn’t buying it and that nobody would sleep until he spoke the absolute truth, no matter how tired they both felt. Sirius got the message immediately and after some hesitation, he whispered, “I am extremely worried.”

“Duly noted. Care to explain why?”

“The Prophecy, You-know-who, the war… [Y/b/g/n] was born in July. I am scared…”

“Sirius-“

“And I don’t want to lose you either. You are a muggleborn witch. If some Death Eaters-“

[Y/n] cut him short with a tight embrace. She rubbed his back in circles with one hand while the other played with his black locks, rocking him back and forth at the same time. 

“Shhhh… Everything will be fine, Sirius. Our baby girl will be fine…” she soughed in his ear.

[Y/n] felt him shaking his head in denial against her chest. “You don’t know that, [y/n]. What if-“

“Don’t think about what ifs, Sirius. Nothing will happen to our family. We will protect each other, no matter the circumstances. That’s what matters the most. We will get through this, I promise.”

Her smooth yet confident words had the desired effect, and soon Sirius composed himself. He put some distance between them, but kept his hands on her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, mmm?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’d keep acting like a hormonal teenager, pranking the unfortunate soul that walked along the streets and drinking too much butterbeer…” she teased, lighting up the ambient.

Sirius chuckled lowly and bowed his head until he crushed their lips together. The kiss was short, yet playful and sweet, and it left the couple with a slightly faster heartbeat.

“I love you,” Sirius blurted out. “Thank Merlin I have you and [y/b/g/n]…”

[Y/n] limited to smile at him and pull him down until they both lay next to each other, cuddling. As long as they were together everything would be fine.

Originally posted by your-harry-potter-imagines

take one pint of water

add half pound of sugar

the juice of eight lemons

the zest of half lemon

pour the water from one jug

then into the other

several times

strain through a clean napkin

grandmother

the alchemist

you spun gold out of this hard life

conjured beauty from the things left behind

found healing where it did not live

discovered the antidote in your own kitchen

broke the curse with your own two hands

you passed these instructions

down to your daughter

who then passed it down

to her daughter

[grandmother hattie speaks] ‘i had my ups and downs

but i always find the inner strength to pull myself up

i was served lemons but i made

lemonade.’

—  Redemption, LEMONADE - performed by Beyoncé, written by Warsan Shire

I am so extremely proud of Jamala. She poured her heart and soul into that song. It’s about the mass genocide and deportation of Crimean tartars by Stalin during the Second World War, in which her great-grandmother’s daughters died on board of a freight truck. She gave an emotional performance and made a political statement. I know that Eurovision isn’t supposed to be about politics, but what do you expect? Ukraine literally has “civil” war going on right at this moment. Was she supposed to sing of happy things while there are people dying in Ukraine? It was about time Europe acknowledged this and for Russia to stop denying the things it has done to Ukraine.

in two words, what Jamala’s song was about

in the morning of 18th May, 1944 a total of 238,500 Crimean Tatars were given 15 minutes for packing before being deported to the territories of Uzbekistan and neighbor countries. People were embarked in commercial trains with awful conditions, with out any food or supplies. Half of the people died on the way, right in the wagons. As to Jamala, her grandmother’s little daughter died on the train and she didn’t even had a chance to bury her, the body was kicked off the wagon.

in 1989 USSR government recognized deportation as illegal and criminal.
in 2005 Ukrainian Government recognized deportation as a genocide.

REDEMPTION

Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons…

 …the zest of half lemon.

 Pour the water from one jug, then into the other, several times.

Strain through a clean napkin.

Grandmother, the alchemist.

You spun gold out of this hard life.

Conjured beauty from  the things left behind.

Found healing where it did not live.

Discovered the antidote in your own kitchen.

Broke the curse with your own two hands.

You passed these instructions down to your daughter.

Who then passed it down to her daughter.

GRANDMOTHER (HATTIE): I’ve had my ups and downs, but I always find the inner strength to pull myself up.

GRANDMOTHER (HATTIE): I was served lemons, but I made lemonade.

My grandma said, nothing real can be threatened.

True love brought salvation back into me.

With every tear came redemption.

And my torturer became my remedy.

(I love…)

So we’re gonna heal, we’re gonna start again. You’ve brought the orchestra.

Synchronized swimmers, you are the magician. Pull me back together again the way you cut me in half.

Make the woman in doubt disappear.

Pull the sorrow from between my legs like silk, knot after knot after knot.

The audience applauds…

…but we can’t hear them.

The wrinkled old lady smiled.  "At Highgarden we have many spiders amongst the flowers.  So long as they keep to themselves we let them spin their little webs, but if they get underfoot we step on them.“  She patted Sansa on the back of the hand.  "Now, child, the truth.”

I get upset because like my whole life I’ve heard my great grandmother talk about protesting. I would hear her speak at the african american cultural society and she taught me everything I know about racial equality. and its like when she was in her 20s she marched w mlk along w her daughter (my grandmother) who was 2 at the time. and its like when she was my age she was fighting for this and now at 82 she has to turn on the news and see that it’s still happening and that her grandkids are still in danger and soon shes gonna leave this world knowing that we’re still fighting. and what makes me sad is just thinking how many more generations are going to have to die and still see that we’re fighting for the same things bc people refuse to change 

story time

I moved to New York just a little over nine years ago. It was pretty rough at first, and about a month in I had to rent a room in an apartment in Washington Heights. An agency (called something really general purpose like “USA Rental Agency”) coordinated with families that had a room to let, and I paid by the week. I “moved in” with my duffle bag of clothes that night and was only briefly introduced to the family living there, a Dominican family who spoke very little English. I speak very little Spanish, so …

The family was mostly women, a grandmother, her two daughters, and one of the daughter’s children, a boy and girl between 7–10 years old. The children spoke some English, but I tried to avoid them. I was a strange adult man, the worst kind of man. I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. I spent almost all the time I was there in the room I was renting. I felt supremely uncomfortable in this family’s home, and I spent most of every night apartment hunting so I could vacate ASAP. I ended up staying there for just two weeks before moving into a place in Bushwick with a friend of a friend of a friend from Florida.

But before leaving Washington Heights, I went to the bathroom one night to brush my teeth before bed, and someone had just taken a shower. Written on the steamed up bathroom mirror was a boy’s name in capital letters. I didn’t recognize the name, so I figured it was the girl who’d written the name of a boy she liked from her school. That’s what made the most sense to me at the time, at least, which added to the general anxiety I felt over the intimate arrangement I was sharing with these strangers.

It was years before I learned that the name was not of a classmate the girl might have had a crush on, but more likely someone the little boy idolized: The name on the mirror was JOHN CENA.