the only sour cherry on your fruit stand (walksbyherself) wrote,
the only sour cherry on your fruit stand

female character trope fest master post

Below are the fills I made for the FCTC; updates to come as I finish more things!

Title: they tumble and fight and they're beautiful
Fandom: Sucker Punch
Characters/Ships: Sweet Pea, Rocket, Blondie, Amber
Rating: PG
Trope: vampires and werewolves
Content Notes: no warnings

Sweet Pea growls at someone in line for breakfast and Blondie cracks a joke about ‘that time of the month.’ Sweet Pea rounds on her next, eyes flaring yellow. Rocket slips between the two of them before things can escalate.

“Don’t be like that,” she says to Blondie. “Do I talk shit to you when you get stuck on morning shift?”

Blondie rolls her eyes, but retracts her fangs anyway. “You’ve got to teach your sister how to take a joke.”

“I’m trying, honey,” Rocket says and they both laugh.

Blondie moves on to get her blood ration; the rest of the line swings around the sisters as Rocket nudges Sweet Pea’s jaw with the top of her head. Sweet Pea relaxes marginally, folds her arms around Rocket, who snuggles closer. (Only the newbies give them a second glance; the two of them always look strange to people who don’t remember werewolf pack dynamics.)

When they get to the table, Amber is staring at her bowl of oatmeal like she’s afraid of it. “You promise it won’t make me sick?”

“I promise,” Blondie says, rubbing her shoulder. “Meat is the only stuff we have a problem with.”

“But it was raw,” Amber protests. “I thought it would be better if it was raw.”

“Nope,” Rocket says, setting down her tray. “That’s for us. But here.” She sets a muffin down next to Amber’s plate. “Snagged you an extra.”

Amber’s face lights up and she starts tearing off small pieces, determined to make it last.

The food is part of Gorski’s therapy regimen. She thinks that if the girls eat like humans, they’ll remember how to be human--or at least, how to pass well enough to be integrated back into society. The vampires still get their blood and the weres can have their meat rare, but the chow hall menu otherwise looks like standard hospital fare.

(It doesn’t suit everyone, but that’s what late night trips to the walk-in freezer or your roommate are for.)

All the conversations stop when Blue walks in. They might have started back up again if he hadn’t brought company with him.

The new girl is porcelain pale with wide blue eyes. At first glance, she looks like prey and every other girl in the room leans a little closer, inhaling. Then the little doll looks back at them. One by one, the other girls stare at the floor; a few bare their throats.

“What is she?” Blondie whispers.

“I don’t know,” Rocket says, eyes glowing. “But we’re gonna have fun finding out.”

Title: little bird
Fandom: Sucker Punch
Characters/Ships: Amber/Blondie
Rating: PG
Trope: wingfic
Content Notes: no warnings

They lobotomize Amber because she keeps trying to fly.

Amber loves their costumes more than anybody else Blondie has worked with. Sequins and silk and fishnets; pleats and ruffles and gloves up past the elbow Amber bounces like it’s Christmas morning if Madame Gorski announces that new outfits have come in.

The one thing she doesn’t like are feathers. Trim on dresses or corsets; clips for her hair--Amber refuses them all, shudders if they touch her skin. She won’t wear them, and she won’t stand too close to anyone who does. Madame Gorski realizes this early on and stages their numbers accordingly. If she finds the behavior odd, she doesn’t say so; lots of the girls have quirks and it would be a shame not to make use of a talented girl like Amber for such a silly thing.

Blondie doesn’t think much about it at all until one night after rehearsal. Gorski has been pushing them hard. Everyone is exhausted, but the hard work is paying off and they’re excited for the upcoming show. Blondie is headed to the showers when she passes by the dressing room.

Somebody left the light on, no big deal; Blondie would have kept right on if she hadn’t heard crying.

She pushes the door open.

Amber is on her knees in front of the costume rack. A huge white feather boa is bundled up in her arms; her face is buried in it, but her shoulders heave with sobs.

Blondie walks into the room, her heels clicking on the floor. Amber doesn’t move.

For the first time, Blondie notices two faded scars between Amber’s shoulder blades; thin parallel lines almost surgical in their precision.

“Amber?” she whispers. “You okay, honey?”

Amber’s head whips around, her expression contorted in a mix of grief and rage. “They took them,” she hisses. “He took them and he won’t--” She clenches her jaw, tears streaming down her face.

“Then we’ll get them back,” Blondie says, projecting a confidence she doesn’t feel.

“You’ll help me?” Amber whispers.

“Always, baby.”

Amber slumps in visible relief. “Thank you.” She scrubs make-up from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Blondie does what she’s wanted to do since she walked in the room and lays her hand over Amber’s scars.

Blondie really thinks they’re going to be okay until the first engine flames out.

“Amber!” she shout from the rear gun turret. “Tell me you’ve got a plan, baby!”

“Not a very good one!” Amber shouts back. “Get to the jump door.”

“But the chutes are gone,” Blondie protests, even as she gets in place. Amber abandons the cockpit to stand beside her. “And who the fuck is flying the plane?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amber says. “Just trust me.” She wraps an arm around Blondie’s waist and hauls them both out into open air.

Blondie screams. “You crazy bitch, you’re going to get us--”

There’s a sound overhead like wind in sails, like a parachute unfurling--one of the parachutes they don’t have. Blondie looks up. A pair of speckled wings arc overhead, beating slowly; Blondie follows them down, sees where they disappear into Amber’s back.

“You’ve been holding out on me, honey,” she breathes.

Amber smiles. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

“Save it for the ground,” Blondie replies. “I want to enjoy this.”

The plane explodes somewhere above them and Amber laughs.

Title: miss american pie
Fandom: Sucker Punch
Characters/Ships: Amber/Blondie
Rating: PG
Trope: roadtrip
Content Notes: no warnings

Amber hears a gunshot and spins around, but it’s only a bus backfiring. A moment later, she hears a laugh.

“Didn’t anybody tell you the war is over?”

She turns again. Blondie leans against the driver’s door of a two door convertible. The car is red like Amber’s favorite lipstick; she always wears it on nights when they have...when she has to--

When she has to what? (She can’t remember. She’s always forgetting things. It’s not important.)

Blondie is important. Blondie with her goggles still pushed high on her hair and an axe resting on her hip, but her clothes are civvie soft.

“Yeah,” Amber says slowly. “He told me when I got off the bus, he said--”

(The bus, courtesy of the USO, red and white and blue bunting all down the side. Amber was the second to last dropped off. Rocket, who’d beat everybody else on board, was still hogging the whole back seat for herself. Amber didn’t mind; she always got sick when she road at the back. But the bus driver. The bus driver said--

The general said--)

“He said we did good,” she finishes, confident. She could always remember her marching orders. “He said we could do whatever we want now.”

“I want this.” Blondie pats the car’s hood for emphasis. “What do you want?”

Amber thinks hard for a minute, chewing on her lower lip. “Shotgun?”
Tags: meme, srs writer, you will be unprepared
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