Yes!! #takebackthetag! This may be oddly niche, but what about Tudor era!Damerey? Gotta love all that court intrigue! Thanks for doing all you do!
Lots of love for those historical AUs showing up in my inbox! Tudor, huh? I’m the first to admit I don’t know the first thing about most of these periods (other than, oh pretty dress, and I’m so glad I don’t need to wear a corset on a daily basis), but that’s what Google is for 😂
We’ll see what we can whip together. If not before May the Fourth, then it will definitely have a place on the to-do list.
Apparently the connotations of this hashtag (which was created by The Writers’ Guild and accepted by us all in less than thirty seconds flat) have been ~controversial. To which I must say: we are not responsible for anyone misinterpreting our hashtag.
“Take back the tag” was articulated in that particular way as a means of reclaiming the happier genre of fics in the tag, of which there have been few lately, and we have felt a lack of encouragement to write. The fact is that darker fics with more drama have been praised more by commenters lately. That is a fact. We were disencouraged by it, so we decided as a whole, as a group of writers, to make things fun for us again. A writing exercise, if you will.
All I wanted to do, personally, was bring a happier tone back to fanfic, something that has been sorely missed by all in the past two months. I’m not condemning angstier fanfiction as long as every character is written in a multifaceted way, as human beings are complex. But I don’t enjoy reading fics where writing was clearly used as a means of exerting someone’s personal frustrations re: fandom drama onto a character and/or relationship. By all means, write it, but it’s simply not to my tastes which is why I’ve been ignoring it. I’ll continue to encourage writers to reclaim the more uplifting tone of fic since it’s been making many readers happy. You encourage your favourite writers and I’ll encourage mine. Easy as that.
Re: other questions, @_bucketofrice on Twitter pretty much articulated everything else I have to say about this, but please don’t send her more anons as she’s clearly said she’s done talking about this topic. I just thought I’d address it here as my name has been associated with the challenge a lot. Thanks for reading~
omg you're taking damerey manip requests?? bless your soul, we need to take this tag back and i love your rebelcaptain edits. i just wanted to stop by and say a big thank you for helping contribute A+ content to the ship. And if you're up for it, there's a huge lack of in-universe Damerey kisses!!
Yes I am and thanks so much for your kind words!!❤️
I’ve never opened up the ask box to one and all for prompts before, so it’s nice that people want to see some more from my corner of the world. And I’m glad you’re enjoying the rebelcaptain manips. Love Jyn and Cassian! Promise I’m gonna get back to work hot and heavy on my Rebelcaptain comic as soon as I get my Jyn cosplay finished up (soon).
Damerey kisses huh? I absolutely want to see that too. I can understand why there aren’t a lot of those images floating around - they’re notoriously difficult to do well. I’m willing to take on the challenge though. It might be a masterpiece or a train wreck, but I’m excited to see what we come up with 😉
So, according to my friend, 4Chan did this once before? Not confirmed, but hey, that's what they said, so for now I'm taking it as plausible.
This is also elsewhere on tumblr, as you can see, so consider this a Signal Boost.
This seems to be the plan again, at the moment. This has already been posted elsewhere, but here it is.
Not sure what we can do to prepare for it, if they successfully hack popular blogs as stated, what can we actually do?
They are calling Phase 1 a total success, which I wouldn't say was true, the reaction by tumblr users was pretty quick. Good job guys, protecting our own.
Just be prepared for what may come next, okay? I would hate to see anyone else hurt.
I also heard we spammed them back with cats? Genius. Love it. Just make sure to hit the right people.
The tumblr staff is gonna have to do something about the sudden attack that will occur November 14th, but considering that the actual date is given of the attack, it may not be impossible.
Everyone, shields up, swords sheathed, and phalanx formation forward! Let's protect each other.
And stop complaining about the feminists that started it. Seriously, it happened, okay. But, were the 4chan users triggered and given panic attacks and hurt? No, probably not, they're mostly just butthurt. So, instead of fighting against us, work with us. We're trying to help the innocents hit in the crossfire here.
They can hit us as hard as they like, they won't ever break tumblr like they want.
Note: allegedly angsty. Also, I kind of declared that I'd dedicate all my fics to suchadearie this year because of reasons.
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Andrew Gold looked around. His grip on the cane in his right hand grew firmer as he took in his surroundings, leaning more and more heavily on his walking aid. Crushed stone creaked under his shoes, but just a few feet away there was flawless green lawn bathing in sunlight.
Wind prickled the hair on his arm where the sleeve of his shirt was folded up and he shivered. Though the sun was shining and the air definitely carried that warm taste of late summer, he could not enjoy it now. He didn’t find the still blossoming flowers around him beautiful, nor did he long to reach that bench at the end of the bower and sit down on it to marvel at the oak tree leaning over it. He didn’t think about the beauty of the carved white bench in the sea of colour as it didn’t trigger the memory of that summer afternoon when he’d crouched by it for hours to paint it. After which his ankle needed an ice pack and the healing massage of clever fingers. He didn’t remember the unusually mild evening either when he’d taken the tea and the cups to the small table in front of that very bench to spend the late hours with gazing at the stars finally not hidden by a gloomy blanket. It was way before that oak tree decided to reach over to the bower. He started for the end of the flowery tunnel now not because of the memories of hours spent under blankets in peaceful silence on that bench, but because the green walls were suffocating him, creeping closer and getting darker.
Andrew Gold didn’t have the once sweet memories of his garden anymore and he’d long stopped recognising it.
The panic born out of finding himself in an unknown place was now inching higher under his ribs, threatening to reach his heart and shutting down everything. “Useless old body,” he gritted his teeth as he settled on the bench, his aching leg stretched out before him. There was no good left in it, nothing that would have functioned properly. Not even his brain. Especially not his brain. There was something just beyond its reach, something important that would explain this unrealistically perfect garden, a word or an image, a meaning, but he couldn’t grasp it. Like a dream eluding the sleeper as he surfaces in reality.
It weren’t the walls of the bower trapping him in the shadow this time, but the constraints of his own body. He wanted to scream and tear his defective mind to pieces and throw the incompetent remnants away, because nothing made sense. Not the ridiculously pink house with its open windows turned towards the afternoon sun, nor the noises coming from the neighbouring backyards. Not even his own white knuckles on the golden handle of his cane. There must have been a time when all this was significant, but now the small world of the garden was just a confusing mixture of meaningless images and sounds.
And then something moved at the far end of the bower and Andrew looked up so quickly that his vision blurred for a second. He kept blinking when the fog disappeared though, because the apparition coming nearer was surely the product of his worthless mind.
White long hair framed the face of the sublime beauty that approached him, and Andrew felt paralyzed. Her back straight, she walked so softly he didn’t even hear her steps on the crushed stone. The lines around her eyes and mouth were prominent, but instead of taking away, they added to her grace, as ancient trees do to marvellous landscapes. Her wrinkled hands - which must have been covered with soft skin once, they must have been - clutched a leather-bound book to her chest. Her skirt danced a slow waltz around her ankles, allowing short glances at the porcelain skin underneath.
When she reached him, she placed her book on the table and looked him over. Her blue eyes - impossibly blue, really - caressed him from his outstretched leg over his flexing hands to his own astounded gaze and Andrew couldn’t find a single reason why a woman like her would look at him like that. But a genuine smile tugged at her lips, making the blue of her eyes all the more stunning, and the affection behind it was unmistakable even for him.
“Gods, you are beautiful,” he blurted out, not registering the words as they spilled over his lips. He had no idea who this woman was, but she had to know that. She had to know that nothing could compare to that peaceful bliss she’d elicited from him. She had to know that he didn’t feel so lost now that she was with him.
She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, but didn’t reach out for him. Why would she? Looking fondly at an old, crippled man was one thing. Touching him was another. Nevertheless, the sudden longing to feel her touch was overwhelming.
He forced his gaping mouth shot.
“How is your leg?” Her voice was tender. Like she cared. Was he imagining things? Perhaps. Probably. But it didn’t matter. He was talking with the most gorgeous woman who had ever graced the Earth and if that made him see things that weren’t there... well, he could live with that.
“It’s fine.” The lie came as easily as a breath.
Her smile faded at once, but he didn’t have time to panic.
“Can I sit with you for a while?” She asked, almost sounding like she was afraid of frightening him.
He nodded eagerly and pulled away to make room for her on the bench. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her skirt and, leaning back, put her hands in her lap. They sat in silence and Andrew fought the urge to ask for her name.
“I’ve finished the book, but I think you’d like to hear the last chapters,” she said when the comfortable quiet grew too long. “They are beautiful. Maybe I could read it to you after dinner?”
Finally something that made sense. He looked at her, his hands obliviously playing with his cane, and he realized for the first time that she looked staggeringly young with her dreamy eyes cast at the house over the hedges. So much younger than him.
“Are we celebrating something?”
She looked at him, her eyes full of sad affection, and finally took his hand. “Today is our birthday, Andrew.”
The familiarity - of the soft pads of her small fingers that fit in his hands perfectly and the way his name rolled from her tongue drowned in a choked smile - sent a jolt of recognition right through his heart.
He let his cane drop between his legs and pulled Belle into his lap with shaking hands. She didn’t say anything, just put her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his grey hair.
She had done this a million times before. And he fell in love with her again each time.
