#alwayssodramatic

[post-febrile]

Anyone know what happened to alwayssodramatic? Her tumblr has disappeared. Really enjoyed her TWD edits...

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

I seriously don't know how you do it. Make all those incredible steggy aus. I've been struggling with this one for ages! I loved the Steggy new years celebration set *fans self*

Aww, thank you! :) oh believe me, I know what a struggle making gifs, especially aus, is. Most of the time I just channel inner Peggy and call my laptop names, threatening it with a stapler, because I feel frustrated when making gifs. 

But your work is great! Polished to perfection and scenes fitting so well. The struggle will never go away, probably, but you should feel proud and happy with your work :)) I love it! 

[peggysrogers]

alwayssodramatic replied to your post: when i see fan art of the so called winter soldier...

pretty much me with capfam edits & fan art which don;t include peggy.

DUDE. you totally get me. HIGH FIVE!!!!

[roboticonography]

3 & 20.

For the Cool Asks meme. #3 I just answered in the previous ask! Here’s number 20:

20. 4 sentences from your work that you’re proud of

I wound up having to choose more than one sentence for some of these because my sentences are kind of short and tend to run in packs? It’s really tough to separate out a single one.

1. From Love Set You Going: 

He was rather a homely child: red-faced, stick-thin and bald as a post, entirely unprepossessing.

I am actually really proud of the entire “Baby Steven is the worst baby” sequence, but this particular sentence still makes me laugh out loud. And I wrote it. So yeah. And then the end bit of that same sequence:

It might have been different if he’d been the perfect, fat blond cherub she’d been envisioning. But this skinny, angry starveling could only be hers, hers and Steve’s, and she fell hopelessly in love with him.

2. From Revelator, and can I just say - this is probably one of the most poetic pieces I’ve written to date. I’m really proud of the entire thing. But there’s one particular sentence that I love, about Clint playing the guitar:

She's never seen him play before, but it isn't surprising that he can; it's all just curved wood and taut string and clever hands.

3. From Object Permanence, because I guess I just get really into metaphors when writing about Clint for some reason:

Clint stitches his life story together in a different way each time he tells it, and Steve does his best to discern the patches of truth from the embroidery.

4. From The Simple Secret. Pretty much every description of Peggy from Steve’s POV in that story is my fave, but this one in particular:

Peggy was sporting a magnificent black eye, and seemed pretty pleased with herself. As well she ought to be—she’d taken out seven HYDRA foot soldiers, by Steve’s count. Dugan said later that he’d seen her punch a guy in the neck hard enough to stop his heart on the spot.

Steve could believe it. He thought his own heart was going to stop every time he looked at her.

[roboticonography]

The Simple Secret & Love Set You Going #2 & #4. You're super talented. I adore the way you write Peggy and Steve. I'm in love with FWNL. I've read it multiple times.

2. What’s my favorite part of the fic?This was my favourite part of "The Simple Secret," because badass Peggy with a side of Steve swooning:

Peggy was sporting a magnificent black eye, and seemed pretty pleased with herself. As well she ought to be—she’d taken out seven HYDRA foot soldiers, by Steve’s count. Dugan said later that he’d seen her punch a guy in the neck hard enough to stop his heart on the spot.

Steve could believe it. He thought his own heart was going to stop every time he looked at her.

My favourite bit of "Love Set You Going" is the sequence in which baby Steven is kind of awful, and Peggy loves him so, so much:

He was rather a homely child: red-faced, stick-thin and bald as a post, entirely unprepossessing. His only attractive feature was his large, slate-grey eyes—but the nurse who had remarked on them informed Peggy that their colour was liable to change in the first year.

He weighed five pounds, one ounce, and was seventeen inches long—figures which meant nothing whatsoever to Peggy, except that they seemed to occasion concerned tutting from every single member of the hospital staff who attended her.

Despite his small size, he showed no other sign of illness or defect, and after a few days, they allowed her to take him home. She had strict instructions on his care: four hours between feedings, no more than ten minutes per breast, and it was vital that she not pick him up unless it was to nurse him.

Whether through inability or sheer cussedness, Steven would not deign to feed from her breast at the scheduled times, leaving her uncomfortable and aching with unshed milk. He seemed equally offended at the notion of being offered a bottle of formula.

In the end, she abandoned the hospital’s instructions entirely: she let him sleep in the bed with her, cuddled him when he cried, and fed him whenever he seemed to want it. She was almost certainly an ignorant and unpracticed mother, but she found that she could not bear to be a cruel one.

She supposed the results were only to be expected. He yelled—not a whine, not a whimper, but a full-throated, indignant shout—whenever she had to lay him down for even an instant, or if anyone other than Peggy had the effrontery to hold him. He screamed bloody murder whenever she changed his diaper, and shrieked when she put him in the sink to bathe.

When she fed him, he expressed his satisfaction by clawing her breast with razor-sharp fingernails, too tiny for her to trim with scissors. If he sensed that she might be about to eat, or sleep, or experience a moment of blessed respite, he would contrive to interrupt it in the most ghastly manner possible, usually something involving bodily fluids.

The few friends she’d made in town came to visit her at home. All of them remarked on the baby’s eyes. No one could find another compliment to pay him, despite the mandate of politeness. He wasn’t sweet, he wasn’t pretty, he wasn’t even peaceful.

He was, quite simply, the most ill-tempered and unattractive child a mother could have had the misfortune to be saddled with.

And she loved him with a fierceness that startled her.

It might have been different if he’d been the perfect, fat blond cherub she’d been envisioning. But this skinny, angry starveling could only be hers, hers and Steve’s, and she fell hopelessly in love with him.

 4. What part of the fic was the hardest for me to write?

In both cases, the hardest part for me to write was the end. It's always tough for me to find a stepping-off point in a world I love - I just want it to go on forever.