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21 January 2012 @ 12:45 pm

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!

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!

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!

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:

she's a salty little pisser: {crimson}  i was pushednorthernqueens on January 22nd, 2012 03:19 am (UTC)
lolita, dolores daze, i'd eat your heart before i'd give you mine
postcardmysterypostcardmystery on January 24th, 2012 01:19 am (UTC)
you miss the point, pg, tw: child abuse, gore
His hands were tan and warm, his hands were tan and cool, his hands, his hands-- his hands ghosted over her thighs, and she closed her eyes, dreamt of other things, until, until.


He called her the wrong name, the name that sticks in her dreams, hot and wet about its edges, he called, calls her the wrong name, and she feels her baby kick, thinks, a girl, you're a girl.


She'd rather cut it out her chest than let him take it; she'd rather blood ran down her chin than hear him say it one more time.


She left him and she didn't, she's been gone a long, long, time, but there's something out of the corner of her eye, red crescents dug into her palms, and outside, outside a gate swings shut.


In short, her story's short, her story's this: he sought to own, to take, to triumph, and she left scars on his back, his lips, his heart, and her own heart, that she gave to no-one but herself and the cool night air.
Aimee: stock; sleevequeensmoot on January 31st, 2012 07:49 pm (UTC)
Re: you miss the point, pg, tw: child abuse, gore
This is stunning!