blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol

Does anyone understand how truly heartbreaking it is to know that the Sheriff forgets Stiles?

Yeah sure, the whole point of the season is that the pack forgets about Stiles but the fact that his dad HIS DAD PEOPLE forgets about him is HORRIFIC. His dad who Stiles knows all his passwords. His dad who was there to cheer him on at every lacrosse game even when he didn’t do anything amazing. His dad the person who he constantly worries about even before all the supernatural crap that happens but just everyday things like alcoholism, high blood pressure and the fact that everyday he goes to work and might not come home. His did who didn’t want to lose because he’s the only one Stiles has left. His dad who he almost lost to the Jennifer bitch (Darach).

His dad who he always feared blamed him for Claudia’s death, who always felt like a disappointment to him, a burden. His dad who at first didn’t believe him, who didn’t want to.

His dad who he lied to for a long time which killed them both because they needed to trust each other but Stiles felt he would put the Sheriff in danger. His dad who almost died, who Stiles sat by waiting and praying to God was okay, who needed to be okay because they only had each other.

The person who always worries about him and will always protect him, going as far as (and I quote) “destroy every shred of evidence if he to” and “burn the whole sheriff’s station to the ground”. His dad who believed his only son, his little boy, will die the same way his wife and the mother of his child did. His dad who was his rock, his security who was always there when the supernatural became too much and he needed to be remembered that he’s still sane. The person who was there to always hold and protect him when he screamed bloody murder when Claudia died and the Nogitsune was trying to get inside his head.

His dad who pointed a gun at him when he was possessed by the nogitsune and plainly stated, “You’re not going to shoot my son” to Argent even though he knew the nogitsune could have killed him.

His dad the person who always would say, “Hey you still got me” only to find that he’s gone.

That Stiles is truly forgotten.

But what nobody realized was that Sirius was really was The Grim.

As James and Peter went around with Mandrake leaves under their tongues, Sirius pretended to be in just as much pain as they were, though of course, he didn’t have to go through the process of becoming an Animagus.

He could already transform into an animal.

He’d been able to do it since birth. He blamed his parents and the alcohol laced with dark magic that his mother drunk when she was pregnant.

He didn’t mean to kill. He didn’t want to kill. But sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Even in his human form, he was still able to send out the death sentence. It first happened to their owl, Mort. Sirius had cried for days, blaming himself, as his parents rapped on his door and screamed for him to shut up.

But Mort’s death taught him a very important lesson - his sentence was passed on whenever he looked someone in the eye for more than three seconds.

An odd sort of specification but then again, the entire world was odd.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter were the first victims. He didn’t mean it. He really didn’t. They had told him that they both loved him. He had looked up, he had looked them in the eyes, tearful and touched, saying that he loved them too. He had realized his mistake a few moments later but it was too late.

They died a year later, mere minutes apart.


Reg suffered a similar fate. He had come to Sirius’ flat, begging for forgiveness. Sirius had pulled him into a hug and when the brothers drew back, Sirius had looked him in the eye to ell him how much he loved him and how proud he was. He didn’t think that he had looked for three whole seconds - he certainly hadn’t meant to - and he did everything within his power to take it back.

Too late.

Regulus disappeared several weeks later. His body still hasn’t been found.

There were only four times in his entire life that Sirius deliberately used his powers. The first two times were right after his brother’s death. He threw on his cloak and went into London, staring at a row of townhouses until another one appeared. He rapped on the door. Kreacher answered and Sirius coldly told him to retrieve Orion and Walburga. They came forward and Sirius stared at them both, a stare filled with so much hate and disdain that it caused his eyes to water. He then turned on his heel and marched away without a word. Orion died a month later. Walburga was gone within the year.

That still didn’t make up for what he had done to Regulus.

James and Lily tried to comfort him, they tried to make him see that it was just a coincidence. And when they looked him in the eye and told him how much they loved him, he looked back.

Voldemort came several months later.

And when the rat transformed back into his true form, startling several teenagers in the process. As they bound him and dragged him out of the Shrieking Shack, Sirius grabbed Peter’s shoulder and stared at him, cold and calculated. It took a few years but as the silver fingers wrapped around his throat in that dusty dungeon, Peter knew that it was Sirius’ doing. It was the second time he deliberately used his powers.

He never looked Harry in the eye. He didn’t know if his godson ever noticed but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, ever be the one to give him that death sentence.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed fond of giving many people death sentences. Sirius had always hated him, as had James and Lily. Remus had been loyal to him thanks to the services that the old goat had so kindly given to him. Sirius tried to tell him that he was being manipulated but he wouldn’t hear it. But Sirius knew. He was a manipulative bastard. Damn him. And when he forced Sirius to stand up, when he forced him to look Snape in the eye, when he forced him to shake his hand, Sirius knew. For whatever reason, the goat needed the snake to die. 

Well, two could play at that game.

And so, as he let go, Sirius turned and stared Dumbledore down. The third time he deliberately used his powers.

He didn’t know if Fred was his fault. He wanted to think that it wasn’t. Then again, the taller half of the twins had grabbed him excitedly, telling him all about how they had found the Marauders Map. Sirius had clapped him on the back, roaring with laughter. He didn’t think that he had looked him in the eye. He couldn’t be sure.

Several months later, when Moody, Remus, and Tonks burst into the room to tell him that Harry was going to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius leapt to his feet and stared back and forth as the three of them recounted their intel. He realized his mistake a few minutes later. He only hoped that they would forgive him.

His last deliberate attempt was next to the archway. The light had hit him in the chest. And right before he fell, Harry’s screams in his ears, he stared at Bellatrix. If he was going down then so was she.

Shortly before she went down, Sirius used his powers one last time when a boy, a man, pressed his lips to the Snitch. He appeared in that forest and he looked his godson in the eye for the first time, telling him that they were always with him, silently expressing how much he loved him.

And then he watched him die.

“Now Galadriel rose from the grass, and taking a cup from one of her maidens she filled it with white mead and gave it to Celeborn.

‘Now it is time to drink the cup of farewell,’ she said. ‘Drink, Lord of the Galadhrim! And let not your heart be sad, though night must follow noon, and already our evening draweth nigh.’“ - Fellowship of the Ring p 365

Bring me my liquor drinks, lady-of-light-galadriel.

I know I don’t know him personally or anything but it genuinely hurts me when I read the kind of shit that’s being written about Ben Affleck. 
Calling him a ‘drunk who cheated on his wife’?? Seriously, fuck. off. His wife gave an interview to Vanity Fair saying they had ended their relationship months before he slept with that other woman. They still lived together for the sake of their children after they had broken up (and still do live together one year after announcing their divorce) which is why it would have seemed like he cheated on her. But Jennifer confirmed he didn’t so can we drop that now? 

And a ‘drunk’? Are we going to demonize someone for having an addiction? All of last year he looked depressed af in interviews and panel discussions. I don’t blame him for turning to alcohol. 

So leave Ben Affleck alone. 

Maybe This is Why

Pairing: Dean x Angel!Reader

Type: Drabble

 Word Count: 217

Notes/Summary: you and Dean meet in a bar and he doesn’t know that you’re an angel spying on him and you quickly forget the mission and cute fluffy stuff or it can escalate to smut if you want

Originally posted by thewinchesterdaily

He’s sitting at the bar and you want to blame the alcohol running through your system as your mind grows fuzzy while your eyes float around his frame. You’re just a footwork angel. Sent to gain information from Dean Winchester on Castiel to try and figure out why he had gone rogue, but you honestly hadn’t expected to come in contact with such a gorgeous man. It’s as though he felt your eyes on him because shortly after being handed his beer Dean turns and locks his eyes with yours. As you get up from the booth you were sitting in you notice him flash you a sexy half-grin. “This man is going to be the death of me,” you mumble. Stalking towards the bar you slowly sit down next to the infamous man. “Well, hello there pretty thing. The name’s Dean,” he introduces himself. You’re not typically fond of pet names, but hearing him call you pretty thing made your chest feel very fuzzy. Quietly laughing you respond, “You’re quite the Casanova, aren’t you? I’m (Y/N).” Dean takes a sip of his beer and nods slightly, enjoying the presence of someone other than Sam and occasionally Castiel. You look into his eyes as you lean on the bar, and as much as you’d like to fool yourself by saying your flirting is just for the mission, you can’t. With a smile you go to speak again. “Mind telling me a little bit about yourself,” you ask planning to make the most of your time together and for once the orders from above didn’t matter. Maybe this is why Castiel rebelled…
A Woman Was Raped And Murdered. Why Is Her Drink Count Relevant?

By simply sharing how much Chipcase had to drink the night of her death, The Sun is not only complicit in victim-blaming, but also reinforces a culture that excuses rape when alcohol is involved.

We hear over and over again stories of women being sexually assaulted behind dumpsters, gang-raped by football players, repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped while behind bars; their dead bodies turning up in garbage bags by the side of the road like forgotten trash.

And all too often, people point to what the victim was doing before she was kidnapped, assaulted, raped and/or murdered.

She was traveling alone. She was drinking. She had a criminal record. She was his girlfriend. She had substance abuse issues. She enjoyed kissing him before that night. She had “drank six Jägerbombs in 10 minutes.”

The offending tweet was among several others tweeted by The Sun that included emerging details about the case. But it shouldn’t have been. It doesn’t matter what she was wearing, who she was dating, how much she had drank ― rape is rape and murder is still murder.

A drug addict who was high on heroin when she was raped, doesn’t make her assault any less of a rape. If a woman is sexually assaulted while unconscious from drinking too much, it doesn’t mean she wasn’t sexually assaulted. Drinking or doing drugs or wearing revealing clothing or flirting doesn’t somehow invalidate or cancel out or nullify rape.

The perfect victim does not exist. And when we seek her out, we undermine every person who’s ever been sexually assaulted.


I am a bisexual male. As in, I have had sexual and romantic encounters with both sexes. I grew up below the poverty line, with an alcoholic father and an anxiety ridden mother in a majority black community. I have never been straight, nor identified that way as a child: I live in a very conservative, fundamentalist Christian part of the South, and am an open atheist.

I am not oppressed.

I take responsibility for the choices that I made in my life, and have enough decency as a person not to blame every problem I have on the invisible hand of the ‘cis white male patriarchy.’ I understand that I am responsible for my own actions, and responsible for the way I treat others. I understand that no one else can be blamed for the problems I’ve had: not the major depression, or the autism, or the ADHD.

I am not oppressed.

I am lucky enough to live in a country where discrimination is a personal choice, not a mandate. I am lucky to have access to the free, open internet, where I cannot be killed for my opinions, and protest without fear of legal repercussion. I am lucky enough to have a roof over my head and food on my table every day.  I am lucky that I am able to go to college and educate myself, better myself, and achieve dreams I never even thought imaginable.

I am not oppressed.

And neither are you. So don’t you dare use that card on me; you’ve never been oppressed once in your life. You think being called a faggot or a retard or a dyke makes you oppressed? It doesn’t, not by a long shot. Oppression is what you make of it, and if you use oppression as an excuse all your life to do terrible things to other people, then you are the very monster that scares you, created by your own hand and will, manifest into reality.

You are not oppressed.

There’s something wrong with you if you blame others for the choices you make. No one else is in control of your decisions and where your life leads. 

I don’t know why I’m sharing this. But if you’re someone else going through the same thing, don’t ever listen to your exes tell you you’re the reason they’re doing drugs or filling some void with alcohol and sex because you broke up with them and found somebody else who makes you so much happier. That was THEIR decision, not yours.  It’s fucking okay to move on and find someone who brings out the best in you. Someone who helps you find balance. 

Take it from somebody who learnt the hard way and could not stop blaming herself this entire week. I let somebody write the narrative of my life and cast me as the villain, and for a moment I completely forgot about all the months of hurt the asshole put me through and the dark place he dragged me into. I forgave him and tried to reach out to him to see if he was okay, because I was naïve and thought he’d be mature enough to sort things out like an adult. He hasn’t forgiven me yet - not for something I actually did during our relationship but for moving on with my life.

I tried to be patient - but I’m standing up for myself now. Don’t let someone so petty and bitter shape your story because they fucking can’t write their own. I am not why your life is shitty - the problem is you. 

this may already be common knowledge and i am not contributing anything meaningful 2 the Jake Gyllenhaal is the Weirdest and Most Elusive actor of all time discourse by posting this, but while going through a random late 2000′s top 40 music kick on youtube i discovered that he makes a key appearance in the music video for Blame It (On The Alcohol) ft. T-Pain by Jamie Foxx, i am truly floored, the versatility, the diversity of this man’s range

I am a textbook alcoholic

And yet, even to this day, I still have that little voice inside my head that tells me I’m different. I’m not like all these other people. I CAN control my drinking, I just don’t want to. 

I blame other people for my mistakes. Through all of my past relapses I’ve still blamed everyone but myself. ‘If they hadn’t treated me that way I wouldn’t’ve had to drink. If they’d just understood.”

I wallow in self pity.”I have to drink because no one understands me.” 

I purposefully push people away, and then get angry at the world when I find myself alone. “Oh well, if no one cares about me, I may as well drink.”

Somehow I manage to simultaneously hate myself, and still think I’m better than everyone else. 

But if nothing else, at least I’m finally starting to identify my behaviour and patterns of thinking, At least I can look out for the warning signs and turn myself in a new direction before it’s too late. No more excuses. No more ‘just this once.’ 

At some point, no matter how it comes about, you have to start taking responsibility for your own actions. 

Empty Immensity

This heaviness in your veins must be mine;

The heaviness that comes with an absence of things;

The thickness of empty spaces in only blood filled bodies.

It’s become my turn to be mistaken for poison

After you eliminated all of the other suspects.

Perhaps, one day, this will be a lesson,

A lesson which teaches that you have yet to learn

The difference between dying and temperance.