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A woman in armor too light for her battles called upon a shield of ice, redirecting her attackerâs sword from flesh to frost. She knocked him down and pinned his hand beneath her boot. The crack of fingers snapping in half was louder than any clash of steel.
It was the loveliest sound Gale had heard in ages, captivating in its brutality. How refreshing to witness plain, old-fashioned, fair violence from someone elseâs hands. For one moment, this corner of himself held a shield while a hundred others wielded skewers. How long could such uneven scales stay upon their fulcrum?
Hey! :3 I apologise for the random jumpscare and big feels question, but! I was thinking about those Underdark chapters of yours again (SPOILERS AHEAD, for anyone having not reached that point :3) and all that backstory made me wonder what you would imagine Miss Fortune to be like as a person if Randek had succeeded in getting them out of the brothel when they were young...
Like, how would they present, would their personnality have shifted somewhat, all those juicy details haha
ofc, no pressure to answer, I'm just curious :3
It only took me nearly a whole month but I have an answer!! Thank you @elceewunjo for this really thoughtful question. It inspired me to do a 10 x 100-Word Drabbles exercise which took me way longer than simply answering your question outright BUT I hope you'll agree it was worth the wait?
Two Paths Converged
1: Arrival, Age 11
23 days since the gaudy pink of the brothel faded from view. 20 by boat, three by caravan, all 23 filled with rocking, rocking, rocking.
The boat, a trade vessel groaning with merchandise, with the burden of bearing them safely to shore, rocking in rhythm with the Sea of Swords.
Sasha, rocking with knees pulled tightly to chest, mourning what lay behind, fearing what lay ahead.
Randek, rocking Sasha in strong arms. The arms of a miner, of a cook. The arms of a father.
"Here we are, Sasha," Randek sighed. Relieved. "Phandalin. She's no Baldur's Gate, but she's home."
2: Settling, Age 12
Tears spilled between gnarled apple trees at Edermath's Orchard, blood bubbling from where skin departed knee. By all appearances, an overzealous game of Chase the Dragon. Sasha knew better.
"You tripped me!"
"Prove it!" shouted Finn, animosity burning in amber eyes.
"We saw you!" the girls cried in unison, crowding around Sasha.
"Here, Sasha." Another friend offered a kerchief.
Outnumbered, Finn lashed. "Whatever, sissy. Boys don't wear dresses!"
"I'm not a boy! My Pa says you're too stupid to understand!"
The children chant, eager for entertainment, a settled score.
"Deathball! Deathball! Deathball!"
"You. Me. The Green. Tomorrow."
"You're on, sissy."
3: Family, Age 14
Flower crowns in their hair, summer dresses fluttering in the wind, Sasha sat arm in arm with Sophie, stifling giggles while armor-clad adults shot stern glances their way.
"Your Da looks so handsome," they appraised, whispers for her ears only.
"So does your Pa."
The men stood on a rune-carved oathstone, prepared as a family, a Dwarven custom. Their eyes shone, beards braided with flowers, hands clasped. Oaths now sworn, the priest concluded, the men kissed.
"Randek Brightiron, Neveth Darkaxe, your fates are joined, two clans now one."
"We're sisters!!" Sophie exclaimed, her kiss tickling Sasha's cheek like dandelion fuzz.
4: Bandit, Age 15
A young rothĂŠ, more fluff than body, leveled big, wet eyes at Sasha, already imprinting herself in their heart.
"All she needs is a name, MimĂťn," Randek encouraged. "Care for her and she'll give you wool for making clothes, perhaps bear you a whole herd someday."
"MimĂťn? Pa, I'm taller than you!"
"My point stands, darling child."
Hands in pockets, Sasha thought of a name befitting her magnificence when she nuzzled against them, air blasting from her nose. With a laugh they ruffled her fuzzy head, only to find the apple gone from their pocket after.
"I'll call you Bandit."
5: Beginnings, Age 17
Bandit's baby was breech. The druids were called. Sasha paced endlessly, fearing a loss.
At dusk, footsteps crunched behind them, and they started. The druid's sonâKestrel. A quick turn, their fear-etched face meeting his tranquility.
"They'll live," Kestrel assured, gaze shifting, cheeks flushing. "I've seen you at the market, admired your dresses and long hair. You're different."
Their eyes lowered, a familiar shame. "I'm sorry."
"Never apologize for that. Nature made you perfect. Flawless as the clownfish shifting with the tides, peerless as the butterflies who defy labels."
Noticing his chest bindings, Sasha understood. "Nature made you perfect, too."
6: Firsts, Age 18
Lavender on the bedroom sill signaled Kestrel's summoning. Once the house slumbered, Sasha slipped outside, landing on silent feet, tingling with nervous anticipation.
The trees beyond Everleaf Farms whispered Kestrel's name as they approached, finding him laid out like an offering. They laid together beneath blanketing stars, a ritual old as time itself yet wholly unfamiliar.
They joined in a mess of fumbling fingers and clumsy kisses, giving way to gasps, groans, and satisfied sighs. Kestrel's eyes glimmered like morning dew, his cries the babbling of a pristine spring.
"I love you," Sasha murmured into his hair, before, during, after.
7: Hardship, Age 21
Neveth wailed within Randek's anchoring arms, heavy tears soaking his beard while a pink paper dangled limply in his hand. Sasha had never seen Neveth cry, and though they were grown the sight of his Da undone shrunk them where they stood.
The town was a chorus of cries and irate shouts as the same scene played out in every miner's house. Under new, mysterious management, strange workers filtered into the mine while the ore was freighted out and away and the families of Phandalin went without.
Sophie and Sasha, joined by other miners' children, met under moonlight, seeking answers.
8: Caught, Age 23
Cloaked in black outfits and shadows, the Brightiron siblings crept out for their Moondark meeting. Petty sabotage disguised as revolution, but it soothed their simmering rage to do something. And the code names were cool, Sasha admitted. They'd chosen Miss Fortune; Sophie, Blackthorn.
A parental ambush; Randek sprung from behind a tree.
"By Moradin's balls!" Randek exclaimed, incredulous. "Folks've been talking, loves, my heart breaks to hear they're right."
"Let us go, Pa," Sophia pleaded. "They gotta pay for what they did to Da."
"Does Kestrel know?" Randek's desperate gamble for sense.
"Who do you think started it?" Sasha whispered.
9: Infiltration, Age 24
After many moons of watching, waiting, the rebels infiltrated. Kestrel restrained an overman, Sophie stole credentials, Sasha disguised themselves with makeup and bluster. Still others slit his throat, dumped the body.
Three days in another man's shoes. Nerves on fire and praying to Tymora, Sasha stalked the mines, the managers' building. Sneaking, seeking, until they found incriminating evidence that made their blood run cold.
The mines belonged to Banitesâone in particular: Enver Gortash, an arms dealer from Baldur's Gate. The name sounded like hawked phlegm hitting a spittoon, with a face to match. A truth hard-won, a future uncertain.
10: Goodbye, Age 24
Sasha's lover lay dead. The Banites dumped Kestrel's body in the square, eyes plucked, joints popped, whip wounds criss-crossing everywhere. A warning.
Sasha drowned in tears until they washed away, leaving only Miss Fortune within them.
"You're really going to Baldur's Gate?" Sophie asked, lip trembling.
"You could come, Soph. We'll join the Guild together."
"I can't. Da and Pa need someone to stay. They can't lose us both."
After back-cracking hugs and tearful goodbyes, Miss Fortune's fathers heaved a pack of rations into their arms and walked them to the door.
"Watch out, Enver. Miss Fortune's coming for you."
One A/N in case it's not super clear: in part 5, Kestrel mentions those animals because clownfish can change sex depending on group needs, and there are some butterflies whose bodies are split down the middle, half male, half female.
And then, a summary beyond the drabbles:
What would be different about a Miss Fortune who'd lived this life
Gender presentation: They would be so much more at home in their body and with presenting in that feminine-leaning style from the start, and they wouldnât take any shit from anyone, Laeâzel included, if someone tried to shame them for it.
Confidence and leadership skills: Essentially co-leading a small-town resistance to one of Gortashâs operations to get steel and iron for weapons and eventually his Steel Watch and then running with the thieves guild full-time for about four years prior to the start of BG3, Miss Fortune would begin with FAR more of both these traits, stepping naturally into the leadership role. I do think this means they would butt heads more with Laeâzel.
Belonging: Miss Fortune would lack their own personal quest arc, but getting tadpoled would be personal and theyâd share the vendetta against Gortash. I imagine in the four years before the game theyâd have been dedicated to making his life difficult.
Family: This is a big one! Having their dads and sister back home would be a driver for them to survive the ordeal and make them proud, to be able tell their dad Neveth that they got revenge for his layoff. I do think near the end of the story theyâd reveal to their partner that theyâre nervous to return home after so long away, victorious of not. There would be some guilt there.
Companion relationships: Many of these would be unchanged with a few exceptions. As mentioned above MF and Laeâzel would have more disagreements because they wouldnât just let Lae walk all over them. I think MF would appreciate Wyllâs heroism more and they would become close friends, although theyâd likely still butt heads occasionally on approaches. MF is probably more willing to take drastic measures
Romantic relationship: This one is hard to say for certain because Astarion really feels OTP for Miss Fortune and I think ultimately it would still go in that direction. BUT I think the trajectory would change, and there would be more competition initially. MF would find Wyll charming, and being less damaged they would be more open to something with Gale.
While MF would not have become a prostitute themselves they still spent 11 years in a brothel, so they'd have some extra understanding and empathy for Astarion as well as an ability to see through his masks, but it wouldn't be nearly as much. Their relationship and Astarion's openness gets fast-tracked a bit in my fic because MF's history as a prostitute and the way it changed their personality makes them that much safer. So it would take more work, and I do think they'd be more hurt by Astarion's confession than canon MF.
Thoughts on the city/wilderness: This version of MF would be a bit less stuck up with regards to being in the wilderness. They spent a good bit of time cleaning rothĂŠ pens and Phandalin is a small town. But upon returning to BG theyâd still come to prefer the city in the end.
Tattoo: Instead of the three swallows on their face, they'd get a kestrel landing on an aspen tree branch in the center of their chest to commemorate their dead lover - aspens symbolize unity, courage, and resilience.
What would be the same
Still gay and nonbinary
Still has anxiety and depression, although they'd have learned better coping mechanisms and a better awareness of their triggers and treatments by growing up with a supportive family and being in a relationship with a druid for 7 years. They'd be abducted with plenty of anxiety meds in their pack.
Still a rogue, but while the tadpole would sap some of their skills and strengths, the knowledge of how to fight, sneak, etc would still be there
Still loves fashion and sewing, would still be all for a tailor shop post-adventure
Still a Tav - they ain't getting out of this whole mess that easily!! I really wanted to find a way for them to still get tadpoled and go on their adventure :3
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Mycroft knew better than to attempt to interfere with Sherlockâs life at present. His previous attempts to guide it had been met with deep suspicion, and even the barrel of a gun. Now that Sherlock seemed to have clumsily pasted himself together from the wreckage of his mind after Cordona, Mycroft could not bear to risk shattering him again.
That did not mean he ceased worrying about Sherlock. He would never be able to do that.
And now that Sherlock had chosen to share rooms with a doctor, after all doctors had done to their family, Mycroft worried still more.
---
According to Mycroftâs research, Dr. John Watson did not have an illustrious record, military or otherwise. Ran away from battle and left his fellow soldiers to die, was wounded later and discharged, spent the next months drinking away his pension.
A coward, perhaps, and still not really practicing medicine. Instead, he tagged along with Sherlock on cases, taking extensive notes.
Mycroft did not like anyone taking notes on his brother, especially a doctor. Had Watson learned of Sherlockâs instability? Was he taking notes in order to develop experimental treatments?
Even if he was, Sherlock would never listen to Mycroftâs warnings.
---
Meeting Watson had both reassured and alarmed Mycroft further. Watson seemed truly fond of Sherlock, as well as deeply devoted to him and quite protective.
Unfortunately, it seemed that he might be just as mad as the Holmes family tended to be.
Still, Sherlock would listen to him, when he would not listen to Mycroft. If Watson distracted him from dangerous cases which teetered on the border of unreality, he might listen.
Mycroft suspected that instead, they would plunge into the depths of arcane horrors together. But if Watson went too, perhaps he could help Sherlock find his way back.
---
âYouâre drugging him.â Trembling, Mycroft touched Sherlockâs brow. âWhat have you done?â
âHeâs delirious and in danger of hurting himself,â Watson said softly. âItâs the only way he can sleep.â
Mycroft glared at him. âHe screams in his sleep. I heard it when I arrived.â
âNightmares. Such things are common after a trauma, and Holmes suffered a terrible ordeal.â
Although Mycroft did not know precisely what happened, he believed that much. He held Watsonâs gaze, trying not to see Richter. âSwear to me that you will not harm him.â
âI swear,â Watson said, holding out his hand.
Mycroft shook it.
---
âAre you feeling better, Sherlock?â Mycroft asked.
Pale, Sherlock nodded. He sat upright today, leaning against Watsonâs shoulder. âMuch, and Iâm afraid I owe you thanks. Watson says you were worried about me.â
âOf course I was.â Throat tight, Mycroft fought back tears. âYouâre my brother. I only want you to be well.â
âHe is much improved,â Watson said. âAnd sleeping through the night now.â
âGood.â Mycroft hesitated, unsure what more to say.
Sherlock solved the problem by smiling. âIâm glad youâre here, Mycroft.â
Finally, Mycroft relaxed. Sherlock was not in danger from Watson, and perhaps now, things would improve.
Also on AO3 [600 words]
@whumptober - day 18: âI tend to deflect when Iâm feeling threatened.â,
day 30: "not much longerâŚ"
@clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard Bingo: masquerade
The Coruscant Guard works on a need-to-know basis, and all too often, Commander Fox needs to not-know.
or
Five times Commander Fox carefully doesnât see, and one time he reports what he sees.
1.
Thereâs something suspicious going on in the Guard. No there isnât, there canât be.
Troopers are whispering in corners, officers are meeting behind closed doors, both groups falling silent as soon as he approaches. If he needs to know, theyâd tell him. He knows why they donât. But heâs a Marshal Commander, he doesnât have time to keep up with whatever petty shenanigans his Guards are scheming. As long as it doesnât affect their performance outside the barracks heâll leave it to his deputies to manage the fallout, thatâs what theyâre for. Keeping track of the Senators is bad enough.
2.
He really wonders about the state of Kamino these days. The shinies are coming to them younger and younger, even the older ones needing more extra work to keep them from making a fatal mistake.
Itâs hard to keep track of whoâs who under the matching paint, with tics and habits spreading rapidly among the lower ranks. Like that shiny there, the way they tap rhythmic patterns against their thigh when distracted, Clarry would do that. But Cla- CT-9845 was decommissioned three weeks ago; Thorn signed off on it. He said he would âhandle itâ, and Fox trusts his Commanders.
3.
His Commanders have been pestering him lately. The usual about his eating and sleeping schedule â as though any of them ever have time for enough of either â but also about his workload, his off-hours, his meetings with the Chancellor. He answers as best he can what does he do in those hours he canât remember? because itâs the quickest way to end their mother-henning.
And if they are so curious about his flimsiwork, well they can take some of it; clearly they donât have enough of their own. He doesnât think about just which tasks he hands over, or why.
4.
He doesnât often spend time in the barracks common areas, too busy working in his office or rushing to the next meeting or crisis, but he still sees troopers without their full kit periodically. And he starts to notice troopers with new scars, surgically-precise, or bandages taped to their temples. He carefully doesnât notice that all the scars match. It pains him to see his Guardsâ injuries, but the medics make the right call in saving their limited bacta for more important wounds.
They have more than their requisition records suggest, but heâs long practiced not asking about that either.
5.
There has been a flurry of comms and meetings between the Guard and the GAR and even Jedi lately. Itâs nice that tensions between the groups seem to be easing, that his troops are able to catch up with their brothers again. What theyâre doing during those catch-ups is none of his business.
Even his own batchmates are sending him messages on their personal chats again. He leaves them unread; itâs not like he has time for mere social calls. He âforgetsâ his pad unlocked on Thireâs bunk, hoping the other Commander will make them understand. Eventually they stop calling.
+1
One of the most important rules in the Coruscant Guard is that only Fox, as Marshall Commander, reports directly to the Chancellor. Especially now. Dangerdanger, heâs something more, must protect his brothers, canât let him know.
When the Chancellor gives him orders Good Soldiers Follow Orders, he obeys without questioning. When the Chancellor asks him a question, he answers without prevarication. The Chancellor knows when he tries to lie, as though he can see the truth in his mind.
So when the Chancellor tells him to report anything suspicious about the Guard lately, Fox replies honestly:
