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21 January 2012 @ 12:45 pm
I AM THE PLOT, BABE: A VILLAINESSES COMMENT FICATHON  

A comment ficathon dedicated to the women who shape the story.  A villainess is any woman who is simply not "good", whether she plays the traditional roles of protagonist or antagonist, whether she narrates her own story (Cersei Lannister, to use an example from the banner) or is seen through the lens of someone else's (Bellatrix Black).  She can be fictional, historical, contemporary; from the books, from the movies, from music: if she's a villainous woman, she's in!


HOW TO PROMPT
Simple: leave a comment with fandom, character name, and prompt.  The prompt can be anything, from a line of poetry or a song lyric, to a quote directly from the woman herself, to a fic you've always wanted written about her.  Anything goes!

HOW TO FILL
Reply to the prompt comment with your fic.  In the subject line, put the title of your fic, the characters in it, and rating; be sure to include any pertinent trigger warnings.  Then link to your fill in the "filled" thread!

PROMOTION
Please feel more than free to promote the ficathon! You can use the banner above or make your own (and if you do, tell me so I can post it here).  If you're using the above banner, here's the code for LJ promotion:


 
 
 
the business of benefiting hussies: [borgia] you bring your elegancemarketchippie on January 21st, 2012 09:34 pm (UTC)
NOBODY'S DAUGHTER | the goose girl (usurper) | pg
She learns borrowed names long before she learns her own. This is the servant's lot: her mother strokes her hair with worried hands and breathes titles into the small shell of her ear, the thick stack of names the first thing in her memory. This is a princess, this is a queen, this is the litany of the dead by which we call them, mother upon mother and crown upon crown. And you, my daughter, you are blessed to know this, you are rewarded by the knowledge, you will grow up to lay your hands upon the crown and it will shine under your fingers, your polishing-cloth.

And what am I, mother?

A blessing, a treasure, mine.
Vague words to which she has trouble laying claim, but she is too young to expect words to make sense, then, and she remains untitled just as mother remains mother—until she becomes dead, and that is final indeed, and then there is no one to ask, no one who'd remember whether she was called after a flower or a saint.

No one begrudges her. "Girl" does just as well.

Girl: a time-being title that she was always meant to grow out of. Her hips stretch and so does her will, and the word sticks in her throat; she faces the wall and lets her nose wrinkle when they shout for her: who is this compliant thing they are calling for? What shadow, who is content to stay nameless?

She takes consolation in the princess's litany of names, then: who are you? The princess's, she is bidden to say, for this is the servant's lot, to be possessed rather than to possess. To forget that she has ever been anything else—but she has never been anything else; there is nothing to forget. The space for her name stretches vastly white behind her, blank as paper and meant to be written on.

She answers to her mistress's name. She always has.

And when it is the two of them in the forest, kissed goodbye by the greathearted queen, she snaps the princess's name on her tongue like a twig, no title first, and the princess blinks just a blink too slow in her response, and that, she thinks, is that.

They arrive at the castle in order, she thinks, a girl and her shadow.

The prince helps her off her horse himself, gloved hands reaching up to clasp her waist, decorously. She remembers to stand rigid against his fingers, defined by the bones of her borrowed gown. "Welcome, princess," he says, bending his head to her own gloved knuckles, and a smile breaks over her face like the sun; she bites back the breath that comes at once easily in her throat. Her chin is high, shoulders sharp, and she has never felt so clear in her life, so starkly delineated against her surroundings. The sun beats hot on the gilt of her gown, and then and there she is all body, no shadow at all.

"You may call me by my name."
o little icarus: tsc | you're very prettyyon_lougawou on January 21st, 2012 10:57 pm (UTC)
Re: NOBODY'S DAUGHTER | the goose girl (usurper) | pg
AAAAAH, ISABEL

This is stunning, oh my goodness. YOU MAY CALL ME BY MY NAME. (I love the things you do with names, and writing about them, aaah!)
michelemiss_mishi on January 22nd, 2012 04:47 am (UTC)
Re: NOBODY'S DAUGHTER | the goose girl (usurper) | pg
alskdjf;laksjdf;laksjdf isabel this is so ridiculously good I have no words