#andrastesgrace

So @andrastesgrace and I are working on something, and for it we are looking for...stuff.  Anything involving comics or video games or Star Trek or Doctor Who or basically any geeky whatever.  Stuff you think should be talked about, or questions you have about specific characters or storylines, or opinions you want to know about.

Seriously anything.  We’re going to make a thing tonight and much more later once we have some technical stuff worked out...tonight is basically a veeeeery rough draft of a podcast that hopefully won’t suck and you shall see--or hear--sometime soon.

Anything you want to contribute, throw in the ask box of Girls Don’t Read Comics

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Inquisition Steve.

Ok, So. Inquisition!Steve is still an artist, because it’s still Steve. I am kind of fond of the idea of Steve carving stuff for some reason, in addition to sketching and painting.  (Ok it’s totally because I like the idea of Steve making things for Peggy that she can keep, in that time period before they realize they both are completely in love with each other.)

It’s not really a hobby, but he totally helps Clint fletch his arrows sometimes, because back with his clan he used to help the hunters do that. He’s terrible with a bow, but he can make arrows, even if he can’t shoot them at anything.

As far as quirks first he’s kind of got a fascination with the symbols around the Inquisition and Chantry, because he comes from a society where they tattoo their deities symbols to their bodies, so ... it’s kind of strange (but practical, as Steve remembers having the vallaslin put on. It was not a fun experience and took forever, even though his is not the most complex design) that it’s on people’s clothes.

Also, he really likes training with the other soldiers? He’s never got a chance to train with a whole army, his clan isn’t that big.

Inquisition!Steve also retains my favorite mannerism, where he pushes his hair back when he’s nervous. That’s not really a quirk, but still. It’s cute (Inquisition!Peggy thinks so too).

Cullen

Ughhhhh, Cullen is really difficult, because he’s SO focused most of the time, and this sort of arm’s length removal from almost everyone but the Inquisitor. Like we know he plays chess, so there’s that, but that’s actual canon.

For the longest time, work IS his hobby because he’s that kind of person, like I don’t think he really HAD hobbies in Kirkwall, because he threw himself into being a Templar 150% after the events at Kinloch in DAO. So by the time the end of DA2 rolls around we’ve got a Cullen who realizes that he’s thrown himself into this role that… might not be the best thing, given what Meredith does.

So I see a lot of Inquisition being Cullen reclaiming the whole concept of being ‘more than the job’ but he’s… really bad at it. It takes a while, so there’s chess, which he sort of mentally justifies as practice for creating actual strategies at first. Then I think as time goes on and he makes friends there are evenings where he goes to the tavern and they sit around and drink and tell stories.

As far as quirks, I think he’s the kind of guy who really needs to have stuff organized- not in the sense of like… color coding or anything, but more that he has a system and if it gets thrown off he has to take a couple of hours to fix things because he cannot focus otherwise.

Varric

Varric’s hobbies include nicknaming everyone and ignoring all his business correspondence apparently.

Like.

Dude.

“So what name did you finally land on?” Steve asked, holding the tiny baby carefully while still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Tony was a father.

“Howard,” Tony replied.  Steve looked up in surprise, and Tony shrugged.  “So maybe my dad didn’t win any father of the year awards, but he was still my dad.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking down at the baby again and smiling.  “Howard is a good name.”

“Yeah,” Pepper said from the bed, with a long sigh.  “It almost makes up for his middle name.”

Tony’s grin widened when she gave him a Look, and Steve looked between them in confusion as Tony stood up to take the baby.

“Hey, it could be worse,” Tony said, bouncing the baby gently in his arms.  “At least I put thought into it.”

Pepper sighed again, but there was a fond smile that belied her irritation.  “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with the birth certificate.”

“So…what’s his middle name?” Steve asked, now intensely curious.

Most common argument?

Steggy:

Actual argument, keeping each other safe, physically and emotionally, and how to best do that.

Less seriously, new puppies/guinea pigs/hamsters/babies.  Steve is in favor of all at all times.

Clintasha:

Actual argument, Nat’s tendency to bolt when things get too serious, without any goodbyes or indication of where she’s going.

Less seriously, Clint trying to get Natasha to watch absolutely trash TV and movies with him.

JJ and Rachel:

Actual argument, JJ’s anxiety and depression giving him a low level, pervasive conviction that the best thing he can do for the people he loves is to keep his distance sometimes, including Rachel.

Less seriously, MOVIES, because her sweet rom coms give him a toothache and his film noire depresses her.

First kisses

Eric Thorson, Kate Barton-Romanoff

Eric Thorson had four main influences in hislife.  There was a lot of important people, sure, incredibly important, itwas hard not to have a ridiculous amount of Important People when you had anyconnection to the sprawling Avengers family.  But out of all those, therewere four that really shaped him, made him who he was day to day, and they allhad…very conflicting ideas about first kisses.

Thefirst was his father, which sometimes surprised people.  For some reason,people assumed they had an awful relationship, or at least a very distant one,which always confused Eric.  His father was an Avenger and a king, and hadstill gone out of his way to make sure Eric and his twin brother were raised insome sense of normalcy, away from insane supervillains or, worse, politics.  At any rate, his father told him that firstkisses didn’t matter, not really, that was just age and hormones andproximity.  The first kiss was a matterof convenience, but the last, that mattered, and that’s what he needed to belooking for—the person he’d want his last kiss from, and then hold on with allhis might.

Theother person was said twin brother, Dustin. In theory, Dustin should have plenty of experience in the subject matter—footballstar, bright without being intimidating, amiable, and genuinely caring, liketheir mother.  But, like their mother, healso was of the sort that thought that the first and the last should…essentiallybe the same person.  They chose that oneperson to have all their adventures with before they even had any realcomprehension of romance or even lust, and were never swayed…no matter how muchheartbreak it brought them.

Outsideof the family, there was JJ, sometimes Jay, sometimes idiot.  He was a study in conflict all on his own,always had been.  Athletically talented,ridiculously intelligent, slow to smile but quick witted, anxious and monstrouslyself-critical while caring deeply about the self-worth of the people he loved.  So determined Jay was to show that he couldsucceed on his own that he didn’t even see how his selfless attitude in taking care ofothers was a direct contradiction.  Inany case, along the same vein of natural dichotomy, he had a certainty thatevery first kiss should be magical…but that there was only one person who couldhave the…correct sort of magic, and be his right partner.  Eric was certain this was the product of theinsane amount of Disney movies he was subjected to as a child.

Lastly,there was Kate, which surprised him.  Five years his junior, the younger sister ofanother close friend, JJ’s fraternal better half, Eric certainly hadn’t bankedon her having any sort of lasting impact on him when he was growing up.  But it was somewhere toward the end of herhigh school days, when she wasn’t quite a child and not quite an adult, thatthey’d sparked a strange friendship that had a foundation mostly built on a sharedsideline quality, the ability to know how some ridiculous plan would fail whilebeing totally willing to watch their friends shoot themselves in the foot—so longas there wasn’t any great harm.  Sincethen, she’d proven to be a quiet place, away from wary glances when he seemed justa little too much like his late uncle, or a bolster when he felt just a littletoo different from his family of warriors. She could make him laugh, and always knew him, no matter how manydoppelgangers he conjured.  He never knewher opinion on first kisses, never even asked, until they were alone at theapartment he shared with his brother, grabbing a couple of beers after shecompletely thrashed him at Mario Kart. Something about being a master bowman, her hand-eye coordination wasfrankly unreal.

“So,”she said, taking a sip of her beer and glancing around.  “Your brother coming home anytime soon?”

“Notlikely,” he told her, shrugging.  “Hewent to California to see Laura.”

“Ah.”  She took another sip, then let her eyesreturn to his.  “So, you wanna make out?”

Itshould have been strange, such a blunt request with no preamble or evenprevious discussion about…the specifics of their relationship.  But, maybe stranger still, it wasn’t, becauseit was Kate, and that was just…how she worked. She decided what she wanted, and then did it, and that was that.  That was how she’d decided on college—she’dput her handful of acceptances up on the wall, then closed her eyes and threw adart, and it was the only time Eric had ever seen her miss—and how she’ddecided to go to Miami—she saw a sale price for flights advertised in a windowas they’d passed a travel agency—and, apparently, how she decided on firstkisses.

Ericwas…rather fond.  Very fond.  In fact—

“Yes,”he said, setting down his beer.  “Yes, Ido.”

“Cool,”she said, stepping closer and curling one hand into his shirt as she pulled himdown to kiss him.

It was dark, in the corner bedroom.  Only the moonlight filtering through the open window, spotlighting an area of floor that consisted of a baseball, half a baseball bat, and the leg of a pair of jeans, broke up the inky blackness.  There was a tub under the window held evidence of the afternoon’s misdeeds and the night’s reason for revenge.

The door cracked open, spilling in a little light from the hall and silhouetting two skulking figures as they slithered into the room.

“I’ll take bottom.”

The other figure shushed the speaker, holding out a hand to stop him as one of the boys in the bunk beds stirred.  They both waited a beat until the child settled, then let out a breath of relief in unison.

“Thank god,” a new voice whispered.  “I thought Peter would never fall asleep as it was.  Fine, you take him, but toilet paper first.”

Several rolls were produced from the bag the first speaker was carrying, and thrown around the room, wound around the lamp and crisscrossed through the room to the posts of the bunk bed.  When they were satisfied with the tp chaos they’d created, they ducked around and through it, showing the same skills they’d developed avoiding lasers and rifle scopes, to approach the bed itself.  Some quick work with feathers and shaving cream, around a few pauses for muffled chuckles, and they were ready to go.

Not, however, before the shorter figure pulled out one last trick.

“You’re wasting vegetable oil?”

“I’m wasting Jarvis’s vegetable oil.”

“He’s going to murder you.  And Peg will help, when she sees what you did to the floor.”

“They’ll have to catch me first.”

The oil was spread as they backed out of the room again slowly, closing the door behind them and leaving the room in the same quiet darkness they’d found it in, albeit a far messier darkness.

It wasn’t until the following morning, as Steve and Bucky joked over coffee while Peggy sipped tea, reading a newspaper and occasionally rolling her eyes, that their nocturnal mission was discovered.  They heard a shout, then a bang, followed quickly by another, and Steve and Bucky glanced at each other over their mugs.

“DAMMIT DAD!”

“THIS IS NOT A PROPORTIONATE RESPONSE!”

Steve and Bucky grinned at each other, clinking their mugs together.  Peggy folded down her newspaper, pinning Steve with a look.

“This is what kept you from coming to bed?”

“They started it,” Steve argued.

“They’re fourteen!”

Bucky took a drink of coffee and smacked his lips.  “Fine age to learn to respect his elders.”

Peggy sighed, shaking her head.  “You’re all children.  And helping them clean up the mess.  Before Peter goes home.”