my grandmother wanted to kill me

This boy is the light of my life. And to see him so upset kills me. I want to have a moment to give condolences to Taehyung and his family for the loss of his grandmother. I pray that she watches over Taehyung and his family happily as they continue on to make her proud. She is so strong to have made it this far, and I thank you grandmother for raising this young man that has brought smiles to many people across the globe. I know that Taehyung will make you proud as you cheer from heaven. Rest in Peace TaeTae’s Grandma 😢😭❤️
(Photo credit to owner)

Richard Chase, who killed, mutilated, and drank the blood of some of his six victims in Sacramento, California, in 1978, was typical of the FBI’s disorganized offender profile. He describes a parental trigger behind his first homicide:

“The first person I killed was sort of an accident. My car was broken down. I wanted to leave but I had no transmission. I had to get an apartment. Mother wouldn’t let me in at Christmas. Always before she let me come in at Christmas, have dinner, and talk to her, my grandmother, and my sister. That year she wouldn’t let me in and I shot from the car and killed somebody.”

Another golden quote from my grandmother

As she was driving me and my brothers to school, a pedestrian wanted to cross the street. So my grandma stopped and waved her to go. Then, as she watched the woman cross the street she said “Go ahead… I won’t kill you…I promise.”

anonymous asked:

The only member of the Stiltskin can is that wasn't dramatic was Nealfire. He was just loud (I guess he got that from Milah? No offense LOL). But I guess after being raised by his evil fairy grandmother, Gideon's allowed to act like an angsty teenager, so long as he doesn't kill Emma. LOL

lol he can act any damn way he wants to, just like I don’t know, leave Emma out of it lol especially considering his stupid ‘kill Savior, become Savior’ idea, makes no sense.

And don’t even get me started on the douche that was Bagel. We’ll be here all day and I may use up all my posts haha

Silver Ravenwolf

I know y'all have seen me tell people to run from her. I really am not kidding.

She is the reason I got into witchcraft (obviously I was influenced by my grandmother too). So, I believed the vitrol, I wanted a place to belong, and wicca felt right. Between her and Scott Cunningham, I cut my teeth.

Here’s my personal problems with her:

-Claims Christians are horrible people

-Tells people it’s okay to just mix things together and takes from closed cultires.

-THE BURNING TIMEZ!?! Okay, she takes the period of history where “witches” were killed to an extreme. She’s been quoted as saying “9 million people!” When referring to those killed in Salem and other places. This all took place in about 1693 or so…World population:a few billion, maybe 2? (There were some earthquakes and famine, so records are bad)

There are more reasons.

I just know anyone who’s like, “Kali is a mother goddess, deals a little with death, but is a strong woman and motherly goddess” needs to be slapped.

I’m glad she helped open the witchy door, but her misinformation, bigotry, and weird “I’m a victim” complex needs to go.

Thank you pinewitch for bringing the subject up.


Teen Wolf/The Originals AU
My name is Hope Mikaelson, I’m 17 years old. I’m different and the only of my kind. My mother and stepfather have moved us from our home in New Orleans to Beacon Hills for my safety. I’ve always been the different one, even in my own family. My birth killed my mother, my blood saved her, my grandmother wants me and my entire family dead. I’ve had to hide who I am from everyone I meet. And then I met Stiles. He doesn’t know, and I have to hide it, but I can’t, not be with him. My father will never approve, and my mother has her own relationships to work out. Stiles is keeping secrets too. I’ll tell him mine if he tells me his.

———————————— Chapter 6 ——————————————-

“Hope are you ready to go?” Jackson yells from the bottom of the stairs.

“Just a minute!” Hope yells back. She and her step-dad have always gotten along… but Hope didn’t want him as a dad. Not that the guy wasn’t father material, more that she knew who her mother truly cared for.

As Hope descended down the stairs there was a knock at the door. Jackson opened it quickly. “Hey,” Hope heard. “I’m Stiles, you probably have no clue who I am but my friend Scott saw Hope and her cousin at the hospital and they dropped something… it had the name Hope on it so I would assume…” He trailed off. At this point Hope had reached the door, smiling at Stiles as she took the letter from his hands.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Hope said. Stiles nodded and began to walk away. “Stiles!” Hope called after him. Stiles turns to face her. “About that date… tonight?”

“Um… Ye… Yes, please, yes,” Stiles stutters out. “I’ll, uh, text you a time? You pick the place?” Hope nodded and laughed as Stiles stumbled back to his truck.

“Who’s the letter from?” “I don’t remember a letter?” Hayley and Rebekah wonder at the same time, interrupting Hope from her thoughts. Hope looked down at the letter.

“I don’t recognize the handwriting,” She states.

“Read it,” Hayley states, urging her daughter to open the mysterious letter.

Keep reading

I want to talk about Neville Longbottom

Everyone’s talking about the abuse Harry suffered as a child. Let’s talk about Neville.

- his parents, like Harry’s, were targeted by Voldy and the gang. Only they weren’t killed, they were driven insane. (More on that later)
- baby Neville was sent to live with his grandmother, who appears to be some sort of matriarch of the family, and is surrounded by a family of proud pure bloods, who while not being death eaters, would probably look down on mixed couples
- and this tiny kid who had suffered the loss of the parenting figures in his life is expected to be magical
- not just any magical, his grandmother and family seem to channel their grief about Frank and Alice to hope for Neville to grow up and kick ass as much as a fully grown auror
- Neville goes to visit Frank and Alice and he doesn’t remember them. He had seen photos of them as kids, in Hogwarts, together, in the war, with him… all he sees in front of him is two hollow people- shaped beings which gave up nearly everything for him, and he doesn’t have a single memory of the people who brought him into this world being his parents.
- meanwhile, the family’s expectations grow… And Neville is starting to suspect he might be a squib and he is terrified of the thought, he had always wanted to go to Hogwarts, and what do they even do with squibs?
- but the worst part is watching the love in his grandmother’s eyes become more obscured, each and every day, by impatience and disappointment, at his apparently missing magic
- and everyone in the family is getting impatient too, and they try to squeeze the magic out of him, becoming more and more desperate. At first he doesn’t know, then he is too horrified to think such a thing about the people closest to him, but one day, after a particularly nasty incident involving a big dog and a locked room (his room didn’t even have a lock and the dog vanished mysteriously after his aunt charmed the door open and asked him why didn’t he do anything about it) he realised what’s going on
- until the day his uncle actually grabs him by the ankle and dangles him out of a third story window, and a very little part of him knows nothing bad will happen but all the rest is pretty damn terrified and screaming for help
- he doesn’t even get his own wand, and he knows it’s not because lack of funds because all the other stuff he gets for Hogwarts is brand new and top of the line. It’s his father’s wand, and his grandmother doesn’t miss a chance to tell him what a great wizard his father was and what an even greater wizard Neville should be
- the spells never seem to come out right, though, and deep inside Neville knows he can do it, but the kids in other houses laugh at his spellwork and eventually he becomes a joke even among the Gryffindor kids (except Hermione)
- so when he comes home, he always exaggerates a bit and tells them he’s okay, there is no competing with Hermione, obviously, but he’s doing pretty average (he probably doesn’t talk much about herbology because it requires a different kind of magic, which is quite beyond what anyone in his family considers as magical)
- and the first time *the first time* Neville gets any appraisal from his grandmother is after the battle in the DoM, and even then he is overshadowed by Harry
- so overshadowed that his grandmother actually says she would have been proud to have Harry as a grandson, and Neville automatically assumed she prefers Harry over him

I’m sorry I can’t
This boy is just too precious and had been through so much and he just keeps on fighting
I just want to cuddle him and give him candy

My grandmother taught me how to sew
when I was eight years old.
She knows what it takes to suffer womanhood.
She tells me, Sammy, when I was your age,
they taught us how to sew in schools, whether we wanted to or not.
I think, this needle is sharp enough to hurt, but not to kill.
This is how they break us.
They give us tiny weapons and they tell us,
This is to be used for fixing and mending,
and you have no choice but to submit to it
and they do this while we are young.
They tell us, you are not worth more than a pinprick.
Do not forget how they have belittled you.

You, little girl, are a goddess.
You are the earth on a man’s shoulders and he owes you.
Why, he owes you the world,
the world you have been robbed from birth,
when your parents gave you dresses and bows
and made it hard for you to move,
while the boys tumbled past you, screaming,
You just don’t understand!
You have always understood, my dear.
You know exactly who you are, and how they will try
to rip that cold identity from your trembling hands.

You are not a sweet sixteen party,
or a shattered prom proposal,
or a forced first kiss.
No, you are the in between.
You are not to be confined and twisted.
You are to be the very center,
the very universe of all that has ever lived.
You are made of everything.
You are made of do or do not
and standing strong with your hands above your head
and your mouth open wide, screaming, always screaming.
Do not let them confine you to something
as insolent as needles and thread.
No, little girl, do not be afraid to scream.
Scream for your justice; scream for the life
that they have tried to steal from you.

—  Samantha Nicole (19/52)

“You’re the sun that hides behind every cloud in the sky. Everyone wants to be around you, see you, know you. This last year, I got my wish and you gave me a chance. But I quickly learned that you still have storm clouds on sunny days and you are the hardest person I’ve ever had to learn to love.”

During years of therapy, I finally was comfortable enough to open up to someone. He was the lucky number and as it turns out, he saw way more than me than I ever saw in myself. In the thralls of severe depression and self destructive behavior I suddenly shut him out, and after trying to kill myself when my grandmother died, he sent me this. It still hurts to know that I’m a hard person to love and that the one time I wanted to make things work, I couldn’t.



I lost something very valuable to me.
Something irreplaceable; a certain kind of key,
With ridges used for a specific kind of lock,
Stitched and attached to a specific kind of box.
A brown-wooden chest in my attic to be precise .
I had tried every other key at least once or twice.
What kills me is the value contained inside.
A memento from my deceased grandmother left behind.

She told me while dying slowly in her bed,
She had something special but wanted to wait instead,
Until she was gone so that when I opened the chest,
What was inside could help put my mind to rest,
But I had lost the key and to make matters worse,
This chest is older than any remedy or curse.

I asked around town but nowhere complacent,
Was a locksmith capable of forging replacements.
They told me they don’t make keys like that anymore,
As if my problems to them seemed like such a chore.
You can only imagine the anger that I bestowed,
Wanting to let go but so desiring to know,
What exactly it was that was inside that chest.
What did she mean by put my mind to rest?

I checked in the house every crack and nook.
I questioned everyone for maybe that key they took.
And I forsook my daily routines; all for that key.
I was going to get to the bottom of this mystery!
So one night with a hacksaw and blade,
I smashed and ripped; O the mess I had made!
Little fragments of wood all over the place,
But I could not open the chest for Heaven’s sake.

This chest was more stubborn than my grandmother herself.
Clearly it cared not about the feelings I felt.
It refused to open through buzz saw and fire.
I had to douse the flames before they had risen higher.
It was almost comical but dumbfounded me,
As if this chest was magical or belonged to royalty.
When I picked up the chest what I found to be absurd.
There wasn’t a noise when I shook it; at least none to be heard.

Its been two years now since my grandmother died,
And this chest left behind I don’t know what’s inside.
So I finally did the only thing for myself to be saved.
I buried the chest next to my grandmother’s grave.
And to this day I myself can never forgive,
Nor forget the days when my grandmother lived.
And what kills me the most and this is no joke,
I’ll always remember the words my grandmother spoke:
“There is a key that I have that opens a chest,”
And what is inside could help put your mind to rest.”
I can’t help but feel guilty for a key that’s not traceable,
But even worse I lost something irreplaceable.


I wanted to share a picture of my granny, whose my great grandmother, who was one of the last Armenians who witnessed the genocide. She was 2 when her parents took her and were able to escape right before our people were taken and killed off completely. They fled to America, where our family thrives now.
She died on January 7, 2014

“Why can’t you talk to me? Why do you have to talk with the adults? My grandmother and I are the closest. Why aren’t you telling the person she’s closest to and telling someone else?”


The writers killed off halmoni. Hye Jung’s motivation and inspirer is gone just like that. All because some idiot wants to respond to a call while doing her surgery. >:( He doesn’t even show no remorse or sympathy for her death - cold blooded.

  • Ruby: I feel alone here. I’m the only one of my kind here.
  • Snow: Wait…what?
  • Ruby: I want to find other werewolves.
  • Snow: You know your grandmother is a werewolf, right?
  • Ruby: Well…yes…
  • Snow: We’ve done this story already remember? We found werewolves? They wanted to kill me? They were crazy?
  • Ruby:
  • Snow: Also, any werewolves are probably here from the first or second curse.
  • Ruby: Oh. So I should stay here?
  • Snow: Duh
my mom & I so far

4 years ago: mom thought my coming out as trans was just a phase, was mostly annoyed, told me to come “dressed normally” (i.e. as a boy) if I wanted to see my grandmother before she dies

3 years ago: periods of estrangement, denial, blame, told me she would never accept me because I killed her son

2 years ago: acceptance that this isn’t going away, realizes she’d rather have me in her life this way than not at all, complaints that I make everything about being trans (true), mostly uses right pronouns & name, but says she won’t ever call me her daughter

1 year ago: finds herself introducing me as her daughter without even consciously deciding to do so, takes me shopping, buys appropriate Christmas gifts, I mostly avoid talking about trans stuff, we’re both trying

Now: brags about her daughter to neighbors, we do everything together, we talk about all kinds of stuff, including trans issues, we laugh a lot, she tells me I’m beautiful, wants to introduce me to a single doctor in her neighborhood

I know I’m lucky, and it doesn’t always go this way, but I also know that I would never have imagined we’d come this far, so maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for others who are struggling as bad now as my mom & I were a few years ago.

I hope that for you, and that if you don’t get it, you find the support you need with chosen family.

Yo Help Me Out?

Ok so here’s the deal -

I’m a transgender man with major depression and anxiety who just got out of the hospital bc I kept wanting to kill myself. I’m still in a partial program for a few weeks and out of work, and while I am on medical leave I am not getting paid for it. So my job will be there when I come back, but for now I’m broke. 

I am also going to be homeless as of April 1st, along w my cousin, and our two dogs. I’ve been kicked out of my abusive parents home and cannot go back, and while I am currently staying with my grandmother, she’s very passive aggressive towards me and my cousin and wants everyone out of her house by April 1st. 

My priority right now is to find an apartment that I can feasibly pay for with my current salary (which wasn’t enough for an apartment before but desperate times call for desperate measures), and get my cousins dog registered as a therapy animal since he suffers from severe PTSD. And also probably buy a new phone since mine is lost to time itself and that was kind of a huge coping object for me.

I don’t have many useful talents to offer in exchange for money (unless you’re looking for your own personal EMT or just someone to watch grandma while youre at work) so I guess I’m kind of just asking (begging). My bank account is in the negatives right now and I’m trying really hard not to go back to the hospital again. 

My paypal is gabemackay @ gmail . com and I can dress my corgi up in whatever u want and send pictures to u for cash dollars.

If you cant donate anything please boost this? 

Today is 24th of April - the day of remembrance of victims of Armenian genocide. I hope you know about that. If you don’t, please, manage to do some research. 
I am - as great-granddaughter of witnesses’ - want people to talk about it and stop making pretend it never happened or it wasn’t that tragic.
No, it was. My great-grandmother, who was 5 in 1915, told me stories when i was a child. She told me how Armenian women got raped and men were just killed immediatly. If people think that’s not tragedy, then i don’t know what is.

Please, remember about it, talk about it. Don’t let people forget about Armenian genocide 1915.

For my daughter- by John Biggs (@johnbiggs)

My daughter is almost eight. She likes princesses and Harry Potter and doll houses and making videos to Taylor Swift songs and she has a few very clear influences and/or heroes. Mal from theDescendents. Hermione. My wife. Me. Her great-grandmother Sadie.

And now I want her to be influenced by the Ghostbusters. The new Ghostbusters, not the version with Murray and Ackroyd.

I want her to love the version with women.


What I’m saying is that boys were told that science was cool and that it was fun to kill people. Girls weren’t.


What this is about is why the Ghostbusters reboot exists. It exists in order to show that girls can tell fart jokes, that they can say scientific-sounding stuff and be taken seriously, and can that they can be cool and funny and useful. All of these should be things we take for granted, things that are obvious to us. And to many they are obvious.


This movie shows girls that they can run science labs and have fun. It shows them the same things that amazing women like Limor Fried try to embody, the idea that talking about technology doesn’t make you less attractive, less friendly, or less interesting. It shows girls an example of the kind of women who run the world and gives them pointers on the way to that goal. 

Read full article

Okay, guys. I really, REALLY hate asking for help. But here’s the deal: My Mom is chronically ill with temporary but scary things that crop up, and while my job may be pretty good and can support us for the most part, the medical bills are killing me.

I currently owe my Grandmother over $700 for our regular, split bills for the house and groceries and gas, etc. And we also currently owe the local clinic and hospital close to $2000. I make the best money I have had so far in my adult life, but there’s no way I can do this by myself and still pay for everything else.

Here’s the horrible part where I ask for help: if you can spare even a buck or two for ChickenHiddle and I and want to give us a hand, please send it to on Paypal, or there is a Donate button on my blog. I knit a LOT, so if you want to commission me, please drop a message into my submit or ask box and I’ll gladly knit you something. And if you can’t help monetarily, please spread this around as much as possible!

Thank you so much, you guys. I love each and every one of you so much and thank you, from the bottom of my heart for even reading this.