#Go listen to my mans new songggg

[dontthinkonithermione]

When I think of Sirius Black:

In a modern day Hogwarts AU, I think of this boy...this beautiful boy who’s parents force herteronormativity on him to the point where he’s tried so hard to like women and to keep up his charade that by 6th year he’s become such a man whore.

Parties, drugs, sex, women. All of the clichés in an effort to drown out who he is -- a flaming gay, in love with Remus and doesn’t really even want anything to do with the party scene. Honestly? Who’s always finding out about the parties?

JAMES!!!! JAMES is the one dragging him to these rich people parties!! James is a big ol’ jock and it’s part of why Lily straight up scoffs at him. Sirius is always his wing man, he’s just really really good at it. They get wasted and faded together almost every weekend. Sometimes James is even the one to throw the parties when his rents are out of town. Absolutely. Underage drinking and smoking? James is the king of that, only to be outdone by Sirius who’s always the life of the party even though it’s not his party. Remus is the one always scraping them both off the ground (Sirius’ favorite part the next morning, much to his dismay. Why is this the only he can be close to Remus? When he’s throwing water down his throat by the gallon trying to hydrate him after having just been thrown up on. Remus will never take him seriously. But at least this way...hung over out of his mind, he can get Remus’ attention...)

The artist The Weekend always fits my HCs of Sirius so damn WELL.

Look at these lyrics:

Got up, thank the Lord for the day Woke up by a girl, I don't even know her name

Woke up by a girl, I don't even know her name

I've been poppin', just took three in a row I'm down to do it again, I'm on a roll I've seen him outside tryna reach her You tryna leave him, you said I'm the reason Tell me lies, ooh girl, tell me lies Say you're mine, I'm yours for the night I'm the realest, she said I'm the realest

Head be genius, dick game be the meanest

------

It’s just all so tragic, and mischievous and dirtyyyy. Listen to the song here!

((Also -- i’ve seen people asking “how else can I contribute to RP? I wanna RP but I want to contribute in another way...” This is a great and perfect way!! It’s like setting the scene and making characters tangible for people in an entirely new way. I’ve told authors their fics go perfectly with certain songs, and they’ve all been SUPER appreciative and thought it was so interesting! The same can be done with RP. If someone comes out with a thread, throw a song on it! It changes the mood so much and makes it all the more immersive! This particular song choice was inspired by @asktheboywholived‘s recent Sirius charade so TT next time you do a music video montage dance thingy in character....consider tHIS SoNGGGG!!! <3))

People I think would agree with this HC: @metamorph-magus @siriussly-serious

[rpf-bat]

Can You Take Me Home?

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Fluff (?)

Summary: It’s St. Patrick’s Day 2001. Gerard is drunk at an Irish pub and you have to go pick him up. 

A/N: Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all my Irish followers (and anyone else who celebrates!)

It was March 17, 2001, and you were at home, minding your own business. Then, the phone rang. “Hello?” said an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, who is this?” you asked, puzzled. “Sorry to bother you,” the caller apologized. “I’m the bartender at O’Flannigan’s Irish Pub. We’ve got a man here, he, uh, he’s really wasted. We had to cut him off, but he won’t leave. You were the first name in his cell phone under recent calls, so…..” It must be Gerard, you realized. He was the only one of your friends who owned a cell phone. You remembered him rambling to you about how, in ten years, everyone was going to own one. You weren’t so sure. “Fuck,” you sighed into the phone’s receiver, winding the cord anxiously around your finger. “I’ll come pick him up, ok?” “Thank you,” the bartender said, sounding as if he was sorry. “And have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” You blinked in momentary confusion as you hung up the phone. You’d completely forgotten that the Irish holiday was today. You didn’t normally do much to celebrate it. But, you knew a lot of people observed it by drinking heavily. Clearly, that had been what Gerard decided to do. You rolled your eyes as you climbed into the car and drove to the pub. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% As soon as you entered the pub, Gerard tackled you with an affectionate hug. “Y/NNNNNN!” he slurred, grinning. His breath reeked of alcohol. “Kiss me, I’m Irish!” “You’re not Irish, Gerard,” you sighed, pushing him away gently. “You’re Italian.” Besides, you thought, If Gerard weren’t drunk, he wouldn’t be asking for kisses. He and I are just friends. “I’m also Scotch,” Gerard replied. “You mean Scottish?” you asked. “Yeah,” Gerard giggled. “I like Scotch, though.” “I know you do,” you said, putting your face into your palm. “Scotland and Ireland are two different countries, by the way.” “Yeah, but Scotland ain’t got any good holidays for drinkin’,” Gerard shrugged. “Pity,” you said sarcastically. “Gee, listen, I think it’s time for you to go home, alright?” “Don’t wanna go home,” Gerard shook his head. “Don’t got any beer there. Did you know they got green beer for St. Patrick’s Day, Y/N?” He stumbled over to the exasperated-looking bartender, nearly tripping over his shoelaces in the process. “Two green beers, please!” he requested. “I don’t want any beer, Gerard,” you argued. “Just one for me, then,” Gerard told the bartender. “I think you’ve had enough beer for tonight,” you protested, walking over to Gerard and putting a hand on his shoulder. He almost fell over, and you gripped him more tightly in order to steady him. “How about a glass of water instead?” “Don’t wanna water,” Gerard pouted. You saw that you were getting nowhere. “Gerard, please let me take you home,” you pleaded. “Ooh, you wanna take me home tonight? From a bar?” Gerard teased, snickering. “Y-you know I didn’t mean it like that!” you blushed. “Surrrrre you didn’t,” Gerard winked. You pressed the bridge of your nose between your fingers. “Gerard, why are you doing this?” you asked. “What made you decide to get so wasted tonight?” “They didn’t like my monkey,” Gerard frowned. “Your…..what now?” you asked, confused. “I made a cartoon, about a monkey that cooks breakfast,” Gerard explained. “I pitched it at work, but they didn’t like it. They wanted to change it into somethin’ else.” Gerard had been working at Cartoon Network for some time now. He dreamed of creating comics, but, mostly, he just assisted with other people’s mediocre cartoons. “I’m sorry that happened, Gerard,” you said honestly. “You’re a great artist. I wish your boss would recognize that.” “Maybe I don’t wanna be an artist,” Gerard considered. “If you weren’t in the animation industry,” you wondered, “what would you do?” “I could sing,” Gerard suggested. “You know how to sing?” you asked, surprised. “Yeah, yeah!” Gerard nodded enthusiastically, and suddenly his voice was blaring across the pub like a foghorn as he began to sing loudly. “IN DUBLIN’S FAIR CITY, WHERE THE GIRLS ARE SO PRETTY, I FIRST SET MY EYES ON SWEET MOLLY MALOOOOOOOOONE…….” “Gerard, sssh,” you hushed him. “People are staring at you…..” “They know that songggg,” Gerard argued. “Do y’know how many Irish Catholics there are in Jersey?” “No, but I know that your Italian Catholic ass needs to go home instead of singing Irish drinking songs,” you said bluntly, gripping him by the hand. “Come on.” You practically had to drag him out of the pub. He nearly slipped in a puddle in the parking lot, and you had to grab him by the shirt collar in order to prop him up. He grinned at you when he noticed how close this action had brought your body to his own. “Still don’t wanna kiss me?” he flirted. “…….Get in the car, Gerard,” you said, changing the subject and releasing your grip on his shirt. In the darkness, he couldn’t see how bright red your face was. You told yourself to calm down. He was just drunk. It didn’t mean anything. He never talked like this when he was sober. You watched him struggle with his seat belt for about five minutes before you intervened and did it for him. “Sorry I’m such a baby righ’ now,” Gerard apologized as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “You always take such good care of me.” “That’s what friends are for,” you shrugged as you turned the ignition. “Nuh-uh,” Gerard argued. “Frankie is my friend, too, but if he came tonight, he would’ve just told me I’m a dumbass.” “You’re not a dumbass, Gerard,” you said softly as you turned out of the lot. “You just drink too much sometimes.” “I know I oughta do it less,” Gerard admitted. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I always cause problems for you.” “It’s ok,” you said. “I don’t mind.” “Can I play with the radio?” Gerard asked. “Alright,” you decided as you flew down the highway. As Gerard punched a button with his thumb, “Come On Eileen” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners began to play. The band was Irish, so it made sense that the DJ had put them on tonight. Gerard began to loudly sing along. “THAT PRETTY RED DRESS,” he sang as he stuck his head out the window, his hair flying in the wind like a sheepdog’s. “EILEEN, TELL HIM YES…..COME ON, EILEEN, TOO-LOO-RYE-AYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEE…….” You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend’s antics. “Ain’t I an awesome singer, Y/N?” Gerard smiled widely. “You’re fantastic,” you snorted. “Now, hush, we’re here.” You decided to take him to your house, rather than his own, because you were worried what would happen to him if you left him alone. He could fall down the stairs and hurt himself or something. You walked with him into the house, helping him onto your living room couch. “Don’t move,” you advised him. “I’m going to cook something to help you sober up, ok? What would you like?” “Potatoesssssssss!” Gerard suggested immediately. “Potatoes?” you repeated. “Po-tay-toes,” Gerard nodded. “Isn’t that a fun word to say, Y/N? I want ‘em ‘cause they’re Irish.” “Sure,” you shrugged. “Why not?” You walked into the kitchen and took a peek into your refrigerator. The only kind of potatoes you had were frozen French fries. You preheated the oven, deciding it was going to have to work. I could make him disco fries, you realized. They were a common snack for drunk (or hungover) people here in New Jersey. It was weird to you to think that people didn’t eat them in other parts of the country. You popped open a can of gravy and emptied its contents into a small saucepan, turning on the stove as you put the fries in the oven. Then, you went back into your fridge to search for some cheese. You jumped when you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist. “Gerard, what are you doing?” you gasped, feeling him pull you closer, pressing your back against his front. “Y/N, I still wanna kiss you,” he confessed, his voice husky against your ear. “Do you wanna kiss me at all?” Your heart pounded erratically. The truth was, you did want to kiss him. Hell, more than kiss him. And right now, you thought he might let you. You’d been nursing a secret crush on Gerard for over a year, but you never thought your feelings would be reciprocated. And yet….. “Gerard, you’re drunk,” you sighed, reluctantly wriggling out of his grip. “So, it wouldn’t be right.” “I don’t care if you take advantage of me…..” Gerard licked his lips, his eyes running over your body. “You can take advantage of me all night long……” The temptation was almost too much to bear. Part of you wanted to jump him then and there. Who knew if he would ever offer himself to you like this again? But, you held firm. “Gerard, you can’t consent to something like that in the state you’re in,” you insisted. “Aren’t you a gentleman?” Gerard said, amused. “I mean, a lady. I mean….fuck, I really am drunk.” “I know,” you smiled gently. “Why don’t you go sleep it off on my couch, ok?” “Will you sleep there with me?” Gerard asked hopefully. “Nope,” you refused. “Sorry, Gerard. I only sleep with sober guys.” “Well,” Gerard decided, “I guess I’m going to have to get sober, then.” “I guess you are,” you replied, and turned away, beet red, as the oven timer beeped. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day…..”