russian grandmothers

anonymous asked:

If growing up with a doctor/medicine hating russian grandmother has taught me anything, it's that breathing in boiled potato steam can cure all illnesses. Now all I can think of is Yuuri getting a cold and Victor insisting that "yes, you must inhale the potato steam. I promise it will help- yUURI GET BACK HERE AND BREATHE THE POTATO STEAM ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD BABE PLEASE"


Read My Mind (Trixya) Chapter 2 - Candy For Children

A/N: Here’s chapter 2! I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you enjoy it! I now have the skeleton of the next few chapters figured out so hopefully I should be updating regularly. Thank you to the person who pointed out my mistakes with the powers! I had just been going off the definitions on the AHS wiki. I will probably keep using the same terms I used in the first chapter for continuities sake, but I really to appreciate it. Happy reading!

Summary: Trixie is a clairvoyant witch, sent to study at Mrs. Charles’s Academy for Gifted Girls, where she meets another young witch named Katya, and sparks fly (no pun intended).

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Dallas Winston headcanons

He lived in Brooklyn, NY before coming to Tulsa to live with his dad.

He used to live with his grandmother.

He has dimples when he smiles.

When he was younger he had tiny freckles on the high pints of his cheeks you could only see in summer.

He learned, through on of the gang members back in NY, how to drive a motorcycle at age 10.

Dallas’ grandmother was Russian and would constantly yell/speak it around him so from the year he spent with her and he easing him he picked up on it and became fluent but rarely speaks it: he usually only speaks it when he severely pissed off.

He has a tattoo on his hip of angel wings.

When he first meet Johnny he literally had heart eyes.

He didn’t drop out of school, he just rarely goes.

Growing up he used to watch is mom take drugs in the bathroom, after the state found out and gave him to his grandmother he vowed he’d never so drugs. Through out all his years on the streets and being a tuff hood, he’s never even looked twice at drugs.

He had a little sister but she died when he was 9, he doesn’t really remember how sh died; mostly because he blocks her out of his memories.

He has three chipped teeth.

He once broke his arm fighting Tim and didn’t go to the hospital.

It took him 6 months to get the courage to ask Johnny to a movie.

  • </b> America:</b> I'm really happy for Leonardo Dicaprio's Oscar.
  • <p> <b>Russia:</b> So am I.
  • <p> <b>America:</b> Oh? Didn't think you'd be following Hollywood stuff.
  • <p> <b>Russia:</b> Well, he is half Russian. His grandmother's last name was Smirnova.
  • <p> <b>America:</b> What.
  • <p> <b>Russia:</b> A lot of my children are involved in your Hollywood. The Schenck brothers grew up near the Volga.
  • <p> <b>America:</b> What.
  • <p> <b>Russia:</b> Of course I follow your Hollywood. Your Hollywood would not exist as it does without me.
  • <p> <b>America:</b> *rewatches every movie ever*
Request: Mrs. Lowman tricks

Request: Imagine you’re Happy’s old lady and the club needs you to do something for them but Happy doesn’t want you to because it might be dangerous so you have to “convince” him to let you. 

Tig Trager Warns You, This Imagine Contains: smut

Originally posted by oreilysamcro

Shit”, you cursed in Russian when you tripped in Happy’s bag on the floor. He had came back home from a run last night and his things were forgotten on the floor. You two had missed each other so much, limbs tangling in the second he crossed the front door.

“Are you okay?”, Happy poked his head out the bathroom, not bothering to ask what you had said, he was used to you cursing in Russian. You grandmother had arrived in America decades ago and she taught you to speak Russian, even though your mother hated it.

Yes”, you yelled back and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. The pancakes were ready by the time Happy got out of the bathroom and you put a plate in front of him.

“You are an angel”, he smiled, satisfied, eating his breakfast. You kissed his scalp and sat next to him, opening the newspaper. You were both in silence, eating, when the doorbell rang. Happy motioned for you to remain seated while he answered it.

You heard voices and the thuds of their boots, then you kitchen was invaded by Jax and Chibs, both greeting you. Happy told then to sit and served coffee to his brothers, not letting you even get up. Chibs winked and you knew he was amused by a domestic Happy. What could you say? You had the Killer wrapped around your finger.

“What brings you here this early boys?”, you asked, serving the pancakes to Chibs, who smirked, taken a big bite.

“Club business”, Jax said, putting a ridiculous amount of sugar in his coffee. Happy straightened on the chair, his expression also all business. You looked at him, knowing it was time for you to go, even though he would tell you what it was. You got up, but Jax motioned you to sit again. “Stay Y/N. We have to talk to you”

“What?”, Happy barked, his fork halfway to his mouth. You looked at each other and then to Jax.

“Easy”, the blond smiled. “We need a favor…”

Jax explained everything while you and Happy listened in silence. Chibs ate his pancakes, adding his own comments now and then. When Jax finished you were biting your fingers, nervous. They had some business to settle with the Russians and they needed your skills to help them. Lyla would put you into a party, where you were supposed to get information for Samcro. Nothing would happened to you, Juice would monitor you all the time and Lyla had a friend there who would protect you. Everything was well planned, but Happy flipped.

“No”, he growled. Happy would never go against his VP, so his attitude surprised everyone.

“She is your old lady”, Jax said. Yes, you were Happy’s old lady and that meant if the club needed, you had to be there.

“Too dangerous”, your husband said. It wasn’t that dangerous, once you got what they needed you would be out of there and no man would mess with you while Lyla’s guy was by your side.

“Hap…”, you started but he wave his hand, cutting you off. His jaw was clenched so hard you could hear the teeth clashing. You sighed and looked to your friends. “Thanks boys. Could you please give us some time?”

“Sure”, Chibs said, finishing his coffee. “We will be at the clubhouse”

You waited until you heard the bikes leaving and looked at Happy. He didn’t give you time to talk, snapping, “No, Y/N”.

“Nothing will happen, baby”, you said. Happy shook his head, getting up to put his plate on the sink. You got up too and wrapped your arms around his waist. Happy sighed and turned around, pressing you against him.

“You don’t know for sure”, he said, showing a sweet and worried side that only you were allowed to see. “Anything and everything could happen. I’m not risking your life, end of discussion”

He smashed his lips on yours, a hungry kiss, making you melt in his arms. All the fear of losing you in that kiss. Happy kissed your forehead and mumbled something about going to work, leaving you in the kitchen. You started to clean it, thinking about what Jax said and what that little mission could be. Happy came to kiss you goodbye before leave the house and everything was quiet, leaving you only with your thoughts.


You knew how you would convince Happy to let you help the club. Well, you weren’t so sure, but you had to try. It was almost sunset, TM would close soon and the boys would be around the bar for a drink. You parked your car and looked at the garage, Happy was there, working and turned his head when he heard a whistle. You heard it too and it was obliviously Tig Trager, seated at the picnic table, smoking.

“Damn doll”, he blew out the smoke. You knew that Happy was seeing that, eyes locked on you legs. You were wearing a jeans mini skirt and your cowboy boots, a black tank top covering your body. You put your sunglasses up as you smiled and walked towards Tig.

“Aren’t you afraid to die?”, you asked.

“Well, yes, but… He won’t kill me”, he shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be so sure”, you said, looking at Happy, now marching towards the picnic table. Tig smirked, always looking for some trouble, his destructive behavior ruling him. You rested a hand on your waist, looking at happy. “Hi baby”

“What are you doing here?”, he growled and grabbed your elbow, already walking to the clubhouse. He stopped at the door and pointed a finger to Tig. “I deal with you later Trager”

“I came to see you”, you smiled getting rid of his grip and waving to Chuck behind the bar. Happy narrowed his eyes and you knew he wasn’t buying it. You noticed the Chapel’s doors open and smirked, walking towards there.

“Y/N…”, happy warned behind you. Ignoring him, you walked inside, nobody was there. You didn’t wait even two seconds before happy follow you. “What are you…?”

You slammed the door and locked it, pushing Happy to the table. You tugged on his kutte at the same time you smashed your lips on his. He responded immediately, his hands on your ass, pulling you closer. You bit his lip, making him growl and nibbled his jaw, your hands roaming down his body, reaching his belt.

“Little girl…”, he warned you again and you smiled at your pet name. His pupils were wide when you knelt in front of him, dragging his pants down his legs. He leaned more on the table, getting as comfortable as he could. His big cock was at your full disposal and you licked your lips in anticipation.

You licked his length, swirling your tongue around the head and teasing his slit before suck his balls. Happy pulled your hair in a ponytail and you let him go with a pop, opening your mouth as much as you could to take him. He moaned when you closed your lips around him, taking his cock as further as you could in your mouth, keeping your eyes locked with his. Your hands stroked his base while you sucked your husband’s cock, already hard in your mouth. His eyes were closed and you lifted his shirt, kissing his abdomen and chest as you got up.

Happy opened his eyes seeing you smirk before push him sit on his very own chair at the table. You took his hand and sucked his fingers, before put them under your skirt.

“No panties”, he muttered as you nodded, leaning to bite his earlobe.

“You better remember this, every time you sit in this chair baby”, you whispered straddling him. Happy held his cock, waiting for you. “Will you let me help the club?”

“I knew you were on a mission”, he smirked. You shrugged, caressing his scalp. “It’s too dangerous girl”

“Well…” you said starting to pull back. “I guess we are done here, then”

“No”, he growled and grabbed you leg, keeping you there. You smiled and lowered on him, taking his cock inside you. It was easy, you were dripping wet for him, you pussy stretching around his member.

“Happy”, you moaned, your nails scratching his neck. Happy pulled down your shirt, exposing the top of your breasts, sucking them as you moved up and down his cock, slamming against him. He grabbed your skirt, helping you to keep a pace. “Can I help the club?”

“No”, he was breathless, watching your breasts bounce in front of him. You stopped, his cock inside you and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He huffed and slapped you ass, you didn’t flinch, he could make it hard for you, but you already had played that game before. He stared at you for a while before talk. “I will die if you get hurt”

You blinked a few times. Happy was sweet with you, something that was a privilege since he was a cold heart killer to everyone else. However, he never had said something so intense like that, he said he loved you and other sweet things, but that statement was new, powerful, overwhelming.

“I won’t, I will be careful baby”, you traced his lips with your thumb. “The boys have everything planned. I can carry a knife, you know that I know how to use it, you taught me”

“Yeah”, he smiled, proud. You waited until he finally sigh and nod. “Fine! You carry that knife and I have to meet the guy before this party, okay?”

“Anything you say”, you smiled.

“Yeah, right…”, he rolled his eyes. “Now let’s finish this”

He got up holding you close, just to place you over the table, your ass on the edge and he thrusted deep and hard inside you. Covering your mouth not to scream you enjoyed your husband fucking you like his life depend on it. You held him tight and bit his shoulder as Happy squeezed your breast. You heard people outside, but nothing else mattered besides Happy.

“I love you”, he groaned, holding your chin to muffle your moans in his mouth as you both got closer to your releases. You were pulsing around him, taking all you could from him, his cum filling you when he came, still kissing you.

“I love you too”, you smiled when he let you go, breathing heavily. Happy grabbed a tissue from somewhere and handed to you clean you thighs as he pulled his pants back. Happy heard the voices outside and cursed.

“Damn. Everybody is around the bar”, you just smiled, making him look at you, raising an eyebrow.

“We are husband and wife”, you said. “This clubhouse smells like sex all the time anyway, nothing they hand’t done, heard or seen before”

You left Chapel and the boys were on the bar, trying to hide their smiles.

“Hi boys”, you greeted, asking Chuck for a beer. “So… Everything ready for our plan?”

“Yes”, Jax smirked and looked at Happy leaving Chapel. “Hey Hap! Thanks for letting her help, man”

“Yeah, whatever”, Happy growled grabbing your elbow, talking you away. “Let’s go home”, he muttered as you waved to the boys, all of them laughing.

eye of newt

Steve Rogers’ clearest memory of his Babushka was at four years old.

He remembers his Mam holding his hand as they walked through Central Park, taking a certain path, a right here, a left there, going round this statue

(It was the one of the famous sled dog, only it was a little Early and most people would not see it yet, but his Mam did and so did Steve)

and then another left and seventy times seven more steps.

Steve always counted.  That’s how he learned to count so high. 

And on the final step, he and Mam would find Babushka’s hut, already scratching its chicken legs on the ground.  There too, under the shelter of an oak tree, lay her mortar and her pestle. 

(If he was good, Babushka would let him ride it.)

Babushka would welcome them with glad cries, haul little Steve close for hugs and kisses

(Babushka always smelled of mint and flowers and safe places)

and feed him up with her good borscht.

The good borscht had helped Steve recover from many an illness, filled as it was with what Babushka called, “good, healthful things.”

On his twelfth birthday, Babushka looked at her cards and cast the bones.

(They were the bones of a dragon, a phoenix and the First Cat to swear its life and service to Babushka, faithful creature to the very end.)

She told him that he would be loved by a woman who came from the land once ruled by a King who had drawn a sword from a stone when nobody else could.  Her love and her strength would always steer him in the right direction. 

(Peggy had always helped Steve when he felt the most lost.  That was why her picture would always remain in his compass.)

She told him that he was loved by a son of the Dragon, a love that was faithful and true and would last even beyond the end of the line.

(Hidden away from prying eyes, Steve will haul Bucky close by the lapels of his fine jacket, kiss him stupid when Bucky repeats his promise.  Till the end of the line.  And even as Bucky nibbles gently at him with his sharp white teeth, Steve will make his own marks - wine red blossoms on Bucky’s pale skin.) 

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Regarding Butler’s parents, Part 1 of ?: Heritage

First off, the surname “Butler” is Norman in origin, and can be found in England and Ireland. This, coupled with how long the Butlers and the Fowls have lived in Ireland, makes me believe the Butler’s could now be considered an Irish family. However, the Butler’s have trained in so many different parts of the world that it’s very likely at least some of their line married into/got intimate with many different ethnicities., which makes me believe their family turned into a melting pot with Irish roots.

Secondly, I like the idea that Butler’s mother is Japanese, but lived in England for most of her life. The idea of the samurai (or at least the romanticization thereof) remind me of the Butler’s devotion to serving the Fowls.

So my conclusion is that Butler is one half Japanese, the other half partly Irish and partly everything-but-the-kitchen-sink.

I also like the idea of Butler’s maternal grandmother being Russian, which would explain why he has a Russian first name.

What do you guys think?

If white people (like me!) want to get mad about Not Having A Culture, we need to look at the 19th and 20th century anglocentric pressures to assimilate that European immigrants underwent. Families lost names and connections to ancestry and traditions, and they had to if they wanted to be considered Real Americans. My grandfather can remember being called names and being discriminated against for being eastern european and having immigrant parents who spoke Magyar. It’s not racism, but it is cultural chauvinism, and my family assimilated and lost a lot of our connection to language and tradition.

But that’s not the fault of people of color, who often were denied the option of assimilating into the homogenous white American culture. If the roots to your culture have been severed, you can’t just glom onto someone else’s ancestry, culture, and narrative, or get mad that they “have a culture”–you have a cultural heritage with someone, somewhere, even if it’s not known to you. Saying “I’m 1/16 Cherokee” when you know you’re probably not, or appropriating traditional african american hairstyles, just furthers the process of treating other people’s cultures as disposable objects. The way yours probably was.

Get mad that you don’t have a connection to your culture, if you’ve lost it. It’s genuinely sad. But there’s more ways than ever to find out who your people were/are and learn about your history. If you’re Russian or Scottish or Portuguese or Basque or Austrian, don’t you want to know what that was like? What did it mean when your Russian immigrant great-grandmother married a Czech man? How did your Greek grandfather learn English? I promise, it’s going to be a much better look on you than corn rows.