♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon
On a quiet evening, when the sun has long set below the horizon and the bustle of Stormwind outside her window has quieted, Seraa likes to put on comfortable nightclothes, curl up in her overstuffed armchair of red and gold with a glass of port wine or voidblend...
...and read trashy romance novels.
The habit goes back to her youth in Quel'thalas, a guilty pleasure that she's shared with few. Sadly, it's been some time since she's been able to add to her collection - the bookseller in Boralus she once frequented closed up shop a few years back, and Stormwind's markets have had sparse selection of literature of any sort.
Perhaps, Seraanna sometimes wonders, I ought write my own
Under a pen name. Of... course.
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your Matthews always have a certain French dramtique about them
If not him then who 😔
No but I rlly like to portray the french dramatique side of the lad. The fandom has a certan way of presenting Matt and make him very similar to Alfred, only instead of Alfreds obnoxiousness, he gets his shyness. I wanna show a side where he was forcefully Anglofied during a time when all he wanted and yearned for is to have his french father remember to step foot in the colonies and pay any kind of attention to his son. He tries his best to be as stoic as Arthur and as confident as Alfred, but he isn't Arthur or Alfred and he never will be. Frankly he cant even begin to try to be as cheerful as Jack or as headstrong as Zee, so he can only be himself. He learned to not be too 'dramatic' and that expressing emotions is unbecoming. He is a Kirkland in almost every aspect of his life. And I really don't want him to be just a shy copy of Alfred. He had a different childhood and a different parent. And I really wanna show that. I wanna show that he hasn't had his french dramatique ripped from him.
The gentle and caring side mixes well with my pick and choose french nature/disposition. He may be anglofied in every aspect of his life but Arthur can't cut off the dramatique frenchness of him.
Besides I really like my depresso boy being all dramatic <3
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I think the reasoning behind pre-quirk music is mostly that the story takes place in the future
The way I personally do it is have Internet archives in universe that have old pre-quirk media in general
I get that, totally... But ill counter with: bnha's worldbuilding is loose enough that we cant actually rightfully say it takes place in the distant future, and the world is so different it might as well be a parallel universe to our own.
Plus, its fiction, their "future time" can have the same music as our "modern day" if we want it to! Nothing's holding us back! If u want your faves to love the same music you do - then you can have that! Without having to jump through hoops like "oh yeah this one indie song Definitely survived hundreds of years in an internet archive (when its already rare that things last 20+ years on the internet) and this character would Definitely be trolling through old archives for difficult-to-access music."
To steal phrasing from my friend "well people can turn invisible and they didnt land on the moon so like i think you can just say [your favorite music] is big whenever bnha is happening."
I just want all these fic writers and fan artists to do whatever they want forever without worrying that it doesnt fit the fandom's arbitrary conventions. :]
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🙊 how well sam fitted in at stanford
oh this is a super interesting topic actually. I've thought about it a lot (I really like preseries stuff) and I...still haven't really come to the perfect conclusion?
the thing is, sam is very likeable, especially when he's actively trying to be. he's not hard to get along with on a surface level. so in that sense, as "some guy in my class who lent me his notes one time," I think he probably fit in really well!
but...if you push any deeper than that, I think things start to get difficult pretty quickly. obviously we know he had a group of close friends, and even though one of them was a demon, we know from his interactions with jess and rebecca, and even luis in the pilot, that he had people who genuinely really cared about him and enjoyed being in his company.
however...what else do we know about his interactions with those people, particularly jess and becky? he was lying to them. constantly. without so much as a second thought. and that's so isolating! even if, from others' perspective, sam fit right in...he didn't feel the same way. I mean, we heard it directly from him in "skin." he knows he's a freak and he can never really fit in with civilians, no matter how hard he tries or how badly he wants to.
and the thing is, people can tell when you hold them at arm's length. it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. you keep your distance because you feel like you don't fit in, people notice and stop trying to get close, and then you feel like you don't fit in so you maintain that distance.
even in the pilot, with jess, we see an echo of this. she's probably the person who tried the hardest to actually get to know sam, but even though he loved her and planned to marry her, he never really let her in. she said he never talked about his family, and even then, he refused to tell her anything that wasn't more or less a lie fabricated to placate her.
so...yeah. I do think he fit in, as someone whose name you might remember if you met them once, someone you might consider asking if you needed a favor, etc. but keep pushing and you start hitting more and more walls, more and more topics that you simply cannot get him to talk about. he's an open book...if you never try to turn any pages past the first couple chapters.
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Try
For my beloved @phoebe-delia. Happy birthday!
Knitting wasn’t so much a decision as an accident—a Draco special, as it were, something only he could pull. It was his second week living in Harry’s place, fighting with the fire, poking and poking until fuck, he fell and ripped right through the throw blanket Molly-Bloody-Weasley made. With her own legendary two hands. Wrecked with guilt, with fear, with fuck-fuck-fuck and the never easing feeling this was it, the thing that’ll break it, this delicate peace between them, the thing that’ll make Harry—anyway, Draco had to fix it. Had to try. So he picked up a needle, and made a whole new mess.
The house wasn’t good for it, for him. In that it was, too good, far too good for his restless fingers, for his fuck-it spirit. Right at the edge of the forest (“Not out of the woods yet, are we, Potter”), far enough from the stream to be quiet, where he could think. Big windows to sit at and stare and stare and stare, waiting for deer to appear in the clearing, unafraid and light as rain. And rain—lying on Harry’s jacket in the attic, clutching his hand as thunder and chaos pelt the roof, always threatening to break through. Never succeeding—never even frightening, with Harry’s hand in his. With Harry’s heart in his smile. In the Cm’ere, in the shh, in the kisses, more delicate than any peace could ever be—
So he picked up knitting, when Harry was outside with his logs and his chainsaw and his fuck, no shirt on. And he took drawing, as Harry lay on the carpet before the fire working on his letters, radiant, smiling back at him—what? What’s so funny?—and he started gardening, a small patch in the back of the house, tomatoes and turnips and peas. He had too much, too much time to do everything, to do anything, to be free and—and he loved it, he loved it so much he felt sick. And Harry, and the habit of taking his hand all the time, the habit of looking him deep in the eye, of looking fond. How is anyone meant to survive this, being loved by Harry Potter? Making ceaseless fucking mistakes, and still being kept, still being held and kissed and treasured? How?
Like this: no decisions, per-se, but accidents, and chances and why-nots. And no shirts, and cooking from his own garden, and Flooing Molly with tears in his eyes (“Please please please teach me—“) and laughing like crazy, and fuck-its, and making the new throw blanket Slytherin green, because why not. Because it matches Harry’s eyes, those fond ones. And sitting very still and looking out for deer, for foxes and rabbits and squirrels. Waiting naked on the bed while Harry’s in the shower, happy-birthday—and singing at the top of his lungs, I just wanted you to know, this is me trying—
Accidents and mistakes, this was him trying. Dunno, seemed to work.
(Day 4 of @flufftober! Find all previous ficlets here, or on AO3!)
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Me: I’ll get up early and record my weekly audio so I’m not doing it so last-minute like I usually do! That way it’ll be early enough that I won’t have to deal with as many traffic sounds!
Me: *forgets that the earliest I can have the apartment to myself is in the middle of morning rush hour*
Me: Beans!
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It's always, "how are you" or "how's it going". Never "what project are you working on," or " how's the project going?"
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