isabelasfriendfiction

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Finch's Sick Day

Finch chronically suffered from intense fevers growing up, and was hoping they'd gone away, but he's not so lucky. On the bright side, Opal, Donahue, and Zeus are around to take care of him, almost like they're his friends or something. Wild.

Opal is @highlyrelateablegoblin's character and Donahue is @brick-brooke's!

WC: 3,415 | CW: Child abuse (neglect, sibling violence) {ao3 link}

Finch woke up slowly, his senses coming back one by one. First, he felt the bed beneath him, the fabric the tiniest bit scratchy, as he had become accustomed to outside the palace. A heavy blanket covered him, which some part of him felt was odd given that he usually kicked off blankets over the course of the night. It was also much too warm.

Next came taste and smell; the comforting aromas of the tavern assured Finch he was home. Then, hearing. A familiar voice muttered nearby, but Finch couldn’t make out the words. Curiosity got the better of him and he blearily pried open his eyes.

As the world came into focus, Finch caught sight of Opal with a hand on her chin and staring down at a book—the source of the muttering. When she glanced up and saw Finch, she gasped in relief. “Finch, you’re awake!”

“Uh, yeah...?” Finch croaked. He noticed that he wasn’t in his own room, and he couldn’t remember going to bed before this. “What the hell is going on?”

Upon trying to sit up, Finch’s vision swam. “No no no!” Opal protested, hands shooting out to gently yet firmly press him back into bed. Finch wanted to resist, but found he didn’t have an ounce of strength left in his body. “You shouldn’t be out of bed so soon after fainting.”

“Fainting?” Finch furrowed his brow and shook his head in confusion, which earned him a throbbing pain emanating from the back of his head. “Ow! Fuck!” he hissed, reaching a hand to feel his skull, which had a sizable bump on it.

“You don’t remember? Well, you did hit your head on a table...” Opal mused, grimacing. “That can’t be good.”

“Opal, I can’t remember anything since I last went to bed. Start from the top.”

Opal sighed and looked at Finch with such concern that he felt the urge to burrow under the blankets and hide. “When you came downstairs this morning I could tell you weren’t feeling well, but you kept insisting you were fine. Obviously, you weren’t. Aren’t.”

As she spoke, the pearlescent dragonborn stood and walked to a bucket on the other side of the room, retrieving a wet cloth from it. “After breakfast you tried to get up and leave, but passed out! I would’ve brought you back to your room, but your bed is so high up I wouldn’t be able to tend to you. And now...” Opal paused to blow on the cloth, her breath billowing out as icy mist in a miniature, less lethal version of the ability Finch had seen her use in battle before. “You’re running an awful fever. As in, any-human-would-be-dead-right-now kind of awful. I’ve never seen an illness like this before.”

The instinct to quip about not being human was buried by Finch focusing on the “fever” keyword. “Damn it,” Finch groaned. “Not again.”

Opal raised her eyebrows. “So this has happened before?” She brushed Finch’s jagged red bangs out of the way and placed the now-chilled towel on his forehead. It felt so nice, Finch took a moment to respond.

“Yeah. Used to happen once every few months. The fever, that is,” Finch admitted. He freed one of his hands from under the blanket to satisfy a sudden urge to fidget, smoothing back his hair more thoroughly. “I was kind of hoping it’d... go away since I left the palace.”

“Why would leaving make a difference?”

“I don’t know!” Finch huffed. “It’s been over six months since it last happened, so I was just... hoping.”

Opal looked sympathetic, which evoked a similar feeling in Finch as when she had been concerned, and then her expression turned thoughtful. “I assume doctors saw you. Did you get a diagnosis?”

Finch made to shake his head, then winced as the pain returned. “Nah. Best doctors in the Dynasty, and none of them could figure it out. Idiots. My dad...” Finch started down a tangent, then clammed up as the last word left his mouth.

He’d never shared anything about his family—beyond the fact that he hated them—with anyone. Not that there was anything to hide now that Finch’s new companions knew exactly who his family was, but he would rather not bring them up if he didn’t have to. But Opal stared at him, clearly wanting Finch to finish, and he relented.

“My dad chalked it up to me being cursed.” Finch’s lip curled at the memory, his father’s cold gaze and stony voice flashing through his mind, and he looked away.

“Well, that’s just silly,” Opal said. “It might have something to do with being a tiefling, but probably not a curse.”

Right. Finch hadn’t told everyone how he didn’t even know what a tiefling was for most of his life. Opal’s response, so matter-of-fact, nearly drew a laugh out of him.

“At any rate,” Opal continued. “While it would’ve been nice to know before you scared me half to death by collapsing, I’m glad it’s not anything life-threatening. I’ll get you back to better in no time!”

She sounded oddly excited about the whole thing, but Finch didn’t have it in him to question it. The simple act of being awake and speaking seemed to have taken a toll on him.

“I’m gonna go cook you a good, hearty meal,” Opal announced. “Call for me if you need anything!” She stood and walked to the room’s exit, then stopped in the doorway to look back with a pointed stare at Finch. “Don’t get out of bed, though, you hear?”

A noncommittal hum was all Finch could muster in reply. That satisfied Opal, who left the door cracked behind her.

***

“What’s wrong with her? Are you certain she’s not faking it?”

“She is genuinely running a high fever, Your Majesty. As for what’s wrong... we are still narrowing down the possibilities.”

The emperor and doctors had a curious habit of discussing “private” matters regarding the young princess within earshot. Whether they assumed she couldn’t hear, wouldn’t understand, or simply didn’t care either way, it was hard to say.

Their low, urgent voices served as background noise for the subject of their conversation as she lay in bed on the other side of the room, her breathing shallow. She didn’t know what was going on either, and scrunched her eyes to prevent tears from leaking out. Crying would achieve nothing but pitying looks from her caretakers at best, and at worst an admonishment from Father.

***

A knock on the door startled Finch from her half-asleep state. Even more surprising, Zeus’ voice rang out: “Yo, Finch, you in here?”

Finch attempted to say, “What do you want, Zeus?” but it came out much more like a single, garbled word than an intelligible sentence.

Unclear if he had understood Finch, Zeus poked his head through the door, saw the answer to his question in the form of Finch in bed, and apparently took it as an invitation to fully enter. He held something in one hand. Finch sighed, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Opal said you got sick? How’d you go and do that?” The questions kept coming despite the demonstration of Finch’s inability to properly answer. “Feeling any better yet?”

“Ugh,” was all Finch deigned to respond with.

“Sounds like a no,” Zeus interpreted for himself. “Bummer. Anyways, I was gonna drop in no matter what, but Opal did ask me to check up on you. Need any water?” He held up the item he carried: a mug.

Finch licked her lips, only then realizing how parched she was. “Yeah,” she rasped.

Seeing Finch struggle to get up, he set the cup aside and hurried to her. “Here, lemme help you sit up.”

Were it not for how utterly weak Finch’s body had become, she would have protested. To his credit, Zeus somehow managed to be quite gentle, guiding her by the back and elbow to a sitting position, so she let it slide.

When Zeus handed her the cup, Finch hesitated, eyeing it and then the triton. Zeus blinked, then caught on. “Oh, it’s not saltwater.” At the confirmation, Finch eagerly gulped down the water. “Opal told me to make sure it was fresh.”

“Thanks,” Finch muttered, finding it much easier to speak now. She gave the cup back to Zeus and sank back down to a reclined position.

“You’re very welcome, friend.” Zeus flashed his signature friendly grin. “I’m gonna go, but I’ll check back up on you later, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” Finch affirmed, not really registering the meaning of Zeus’ words until he left. A strange knot of emotion formed in Finch’s chest, but her thorough exhaustion prevented her from thinking about it too hard.

***

This time, the fever turned out to be a blessing in disguise, providing the perfect excuse to not attend the latest social event happening in the palace. While she did cause trouble at such functions as often as she could, more often than not she still had to put on her “princess” facade so as to not get in too hot of water. Tiresome, to say the least.

The princess found herself more coherent as well, able to sit up and speak with no issue. Unfortunately, this lucidity meant awareness of how excruciatingly idle being bedridden left her. At one point, she voiced as much to the servant attending her, who in turn looked at the princess as if she’d sprouted wings.

“You’re bored, Your Highness?” the servant repeated.

“That’s what I just said, yes.”

“Ah...” The human servant wrung his hands, his eyes darting around the room as if to find some way out. “I-I’m sorry about that?”

The princess pursed her lips. “Play a game of tak with me?”

At hearing a request, the servant straightened his posture, but his audible swallow gave away his misgivings. “Certainly, Your Highness. Allow me to retrieve a board.”

They played the game in silence for the most part, which was nothing new for the princess. But at least the high elves she played with, however insufferable, put effort into the game. After the third game, it became clear the servant intended to lose.

“Why are you throwing the game?”

“What?” The servant seemed surprised. “I’m simply not very good at it, Your Highness...”

“That’s not true. You’re changing your strategy to make sure I win every time.”

Rather than defend himself, the servant immediately bowed, trembling. “Forgive me, Your Highness! Would it please you more if I play with intention to win?”

The princess gazed at the pitiful form of the man for several seconds before responding: “No. I don’t want to play anymore. Just... go.”

***

Something brushed Finch’s forehead, bringing her back to consciousness once more. She didn’t immediately open her eyes, focusing on the sensation. It seemed someone was changing out the cloth that had been placed earlier, now simply damp instead of cold. “Opal?” Finch mumbled, curious if she had returned.

The cloth stopped moving, still halfway draped on Finch’s skin. “Uh, no,” a deeper voice than Opal’s said. “It’s me.”

Finch blinked open her eyes to see Donahue, dark and gloomy as ever, in her periphery, sitting on the stool next to the bed. He grimaced.

“Oh. Hi.” Finch couldn’t hide the mild surprise in her voice.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Donahue said flatly, his expression returning to his impassive default. Finally, the cloth fully left Finch’s head as he continued his task of replacing it.

“You didn’t... Ugh.” Finch didn’t have the mental power to formulate a witty comeback, or even explain that she genuinely wasn’t disappointed. “You’re fine.”

Donahue raised an eyebrow as he wrung out the new cloth over a bucket at his feet. “Damn, you really must be sick. Not even calling me a bitch?”

Finch stuck her tongue out at him. She watched through her drooping eyelids as Donahue made a hand gesture above the cloth. A soft crackling noise could be faintly heard as the water within it froze. Then, he placed it on Finch’s forehead. She sighed at the blissful chill. “Did Opal tell you I’m sick?” she managed to ask.

“Hm? No. Cricket, actually.” For the first time, Finch noticed her faerie dragon familiar sitting on Donahue’s shoulder, gazing at her with what she could feel was worry. “He insisted I come.”

“So that’s where you went off to,” Finch drawled at Cricket, cracking a smile. For some reason, the thought of Cricket nagging Donahue to come see her tickled her.

In response to her voice, Cricket ran down Donahue’s arm and jumped over to Finch, bumping his head against hers. Finch focused and telepathically reached out to him, pushing the idea that he could hang out with Donahue for now since he’d surely be more fun than her while in this state. Cricket hesitated, then acquiesced and returned to Donahue.

Donahue cleared his throat and shifted on the stool as if suddenly restless. “Do you... need anything else?”

“Mm... don’t think so.”

“All right, I’m gonna head out, then.” Donahue stood and turned towards the door.

“Wait!” Something possessed Finch to call out. Donahue stopped to listen. “Maybe later... play a game of tak with me?”

Donahue tilted his head at the unexpected request. “If you really want to, sure.”

***

The princess may have had a bodyguard now, but no amount of physical protection could shield her from the ravages of her own body’s wrath. The first of her fevers Kanai’andren experienced was a particularly brutal one. When he’d gone to stand outside her bedroom door, the princess hadn’t missed a hint of relief in his demeanor. Being nigh-comatose meant she couldn’t make his life harder with pranks and misbehavior.

As usual, the doctors had come and performed their invasive poking and prodding, hemming and hawing, and coming to no useful conclusion. Her father had long since stopped consulting with them, but sent them nonetheless, and without his supervision they had only become less gentle in their methods.

Slipping in and out of fever dreams, the princess struggled to remain conscious when she heard an announcement from the doorway: “Your brother is here to see you, Princess.”

Her blood turned cold. She wanted to protest, order her guard to not let Zal’gaelin in, but nothing but a soft whimper escaped her mouth. Kanai’andren had been appointed barely a month ago, and had no way of knowing the relationship between the siblings was one of fear and violence.

Zal’gaelin entered, his amber eyes glittering with smugness as he saw how powerless his sister’s illness had left her. “How fitting,” he sneered. “A stupid honor guard for a stupid half-breed.”

The princess squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for what pain he might inflict. He muttered more insults at her and then... no pain, but a softness over her face. Confusion overtook her until he pressed the pillow down and she couldn’t breathe.

Finally, her body allowed her to act when it realized it had no air. She thrashed and kicked, dislodging the pillow for a fleeting moment, but a moment was all she needed to scream.

Kanai’andren, luckily, took his duty as a guard seriously even if the princess didn’t. The rest of the incident became a blur, him wresting Zal’gaelin off of her and driving him away as her lungs heaved. Kanai’andren stayed in the room with her after that. She stared at the ceiling, suspended in a miserable state of being too agitated to sleep yet too exhausted to cry.

***

This time, a scent coaxed Finch awake. It smelled rich and hearty, and his mouth watered before her eyes even opened.

Opal was there at the bedside again, smiling. “Awake now? Good, you can have some stew!”

Finch rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up on his own, but to no avail. Although he felt better than when Zeus had visited, his arms still shook at any effort to exert pressure or hold things. Opal helped, taking the damp cloth away and padding pillows behind Finch’s back for support. She took the opportunity to hold a hand to Finch’s forehead. “Well, the fever hasn’t broke yet, but I’m sure you’re close.”

The source of the delicious aroma was placed in Finch’s hands: a warm bowl of thick stew. Opal proudly continued, “This is the stew Sister Severance always made for us when we were sick. Slightly modified, of course. You can’t get the same kind of eel here in Kovali as at the monastery, so I had to substitute pork...”

Finch gave silent thanks for the lack of whatever horrific variant of eel that Opal was surely talking about, then took a bite. Opal had made plenty of stews before, and Finch had never outright disliked them, but this one felt different somehow—smooth, creamy, and melt-in-your mouth chunks of meat and vegetable. It was vastly different from anything he ever ate the palace; high elves preferred a much more delicate arrangement of ingredients, and didn’t believe in heavy spices. While ill, younger Finch could only look forward to clear broths and teas for the majority of his meals.

It occurred to Finch that he had no idea what he would have done if he had come down with a fever and hadn’t been with SPF. But it wasn’t just having people around to assist; Opal, Zeus, and Donahue were helping because they wanted to. The concept proved to be... overwhelming. As he took another spoonful of stew, Finch’s vision suddenly blurred.

“Finch, are you crying?” Opal asked, alarmed.

Finch flinched at it being called out, which only caused tears to fall faster. “N-No,” she sniffled.

“Are you upset you’re still sick? I’m sorry, I’m trying to get you better as quick as I can, I know the royal doctors were probably much better—”

“What? No! That’s not... That’s not why,” Finch interrupted Opal, his dismay at the implication that he would prefer to be back at the palace outweighing any instinct to be evasive about his feelings.

Opal stared at Finch with big, worried eyes, and Finch resigned himself to explaining. That didn’t mean it was easy to find the words, however. The fever and the sniveling certainly weren’t helping. “I... You... Nobody’s ever... been this nice to me.” Deep inside, the tiny bit of clear mind he had left despaired at how pathetic he sounded. “Nobody ever cared.”

Somehow, Opal’s eyes grew even larger. “Fiiiinch!” she cried and stood up, leaning over to hug the tiefling. Finch couldn’t exactly avoid it, and he screwed his eyes shut into Opal’s shoulder, allowing some more tears to leak out and be absorbed by the fabric of her dress.

“It’s so nice, isn’t it?” Opal said, and Finch could hear the gentle smile in her voice. “Having people care. It’s new for me, too.”

Ah. Right. Finch couldn’t begin to imagine what Opal had been through in her upbringing, but it made sense that she too would be a stranger to... all this.

The embrace lasted far longer than Finch liked. When Opal withdrew, Finch rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, desperate to stop the embarrassing spectacle. Something soft brushed his hand and he found Opal offering a handkerchief.

Frowning as he dabbed his face, Finch grumbled, “The fever is m-making me say weird shit.” Although the worst of the sobbing had passed, hiccups still punctuated his voice.

“Uh-huh.” Opal smirked, and Finch wanted to curl up and die.

“Don’t... tell anyone about this. Please.”

“Oh, fine,” Opal sighed. “But only because you asked nicely.” She thought for a moment before adding, “I know you’re gonna hate me saying this, but it’s kinda nice to see this side of you.”

Finch frowned even deeper, confirming Opal’s prediction, and he shoveled bites of stew into his mouth to provide an excuse for not talking.

“It’s okay to be soft around your friends, that’s all I’m trying to say. Anyways, I’ll take your bowl once you’re done and let you sleep. I’m sure you’re pretty tired now.”

Finch was indeed quite worn out after the burst of emotion. Sulkily, he finished his meal and handed the bowl back to Opal. “Thank you,” he said, hardly above a whisper.

Opal simply beamed in response, then assisted Finch in removing the extra pillows so he could lay down again. Once Opal left, Finch drifted off, and this time no unpleasant memories plagued his rest.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Uncharted Territory

Finch isn't used to giving gifts, but she wants to do something nice for Kanai. This is a retelling of the actual in-game scene. Thanks to @aliceliveson for the gift idea!

{ao3 link}

Kanai’s door loomed before Finch, a daunting hurdle in her current quest. Coming up with an idea for a gift? Took a little time, but no problem. Taking an afternoon to create the thing from scratch? Piece of cake. Fun, even.

Actually giving the person the item she’d made for them? Oh no.

Finch took a deep breath, fidgeting with the little clockwork bird she held. Just gotta hand it over and then dip. Easy. She forced one of her hands towards the door, fist clenched far too tightly, and gave it a few quick-but-firm knocks.

She braced herself for the door to open, fighting the urge to simply set the bird on the ground and go hide. But seconds passed, and nothing happened.

Her head tilted. Where else would he be? She’d already checked the dining area. Surely he wouldn’t have gone wandering the city on his own.

After a few moments of perplexion, a notion struck Finch. She practically ran upstairs, nimbly navigating the odd twists and turns of the building until she found the ladder leading outside.

Her hunch proved correct: Kanai sat at the apex of the roof, his long legs bent to support the journal he wrote in. His long, silky hair flowed in the warm breeze. He’d taken to keeping it tied up­­­­—a change from his days in the palace, but one Finch found herself not minding at all. A fresh look felt appropriate for what was hopefully a new chapter in his life.

“Should’ve guessed you’d be up here,” Finch announced her presence with the wry remark as she hoisted herself up onto the roof.

Kanai’s violet eyes found Finch’s as he looked up. His expression hardly changed, yet despite a year away from him, Finch could still pick up on the subtlest shifts in his eyes and face; she’d caught him by surprise. In a good way, clearly, as a ghost of a smile touched his lips. Finch’s heart skipped a beat.

As Finch approached, taking care not to dislodge any shingles, Kanai responded to her greeting: “Yes, well, I’ve found it can get a tad claustrophobic indoors, after...”

The ship, Finch finished his sentence in her mind. She nodded, and, unsure if talking about his experience as Zal’gaelin’s cabin boy would upset him, didn’t pry further. She nervously thumbed the bird in her pocket, finding a small amount of comfort in the texture of its engraved design. As the seconds ticked by, it dawned on Finch that her ideal plan of handing over the gift and promptly absconding wouldn’t work up here. She’d been so swept up in the triumph of simply finding Kanai that she hadn’t thought it through. Shit.

Kanai seemed unperturbed, turning back to his writing before long. On her part, Finch remained occupied with tumbling thoughts of how she should handle the situation. Jump off the roof? No, we’re four stories up; not even I could pull that off. Just book it back the way I came? Maybe...

This spiral continued for minutes, Finch paralyzed all the while. She didn’t know what had come over her recently; she hated directly giving gifts to anyone, sure, but there was something deeper going on. Interacting with Kanai—and Fix—one-on-one ever since they’d been rescued proved to be an ordeal for Finch every time, to the point she felt as though she couldn’t breathe sometimes. And every time she saw Kanai, Norn’s matter-of-fact words echoed in Finch’s mind: He’s in love with you.

The soft sound of Kanai closing his journal finally broke through Finch’s internal cyclone and spurred her to act. Upon turning his head and opening his mouth, a hand holding a mechanical bird met Kanai, so close he nearly went cross-eyed. Kanai was tall enough that Finch could shove her arm in his face without sitting down, and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

“Oh!” Kanai managed to make even an exclamation of surprise sound polite. He positioned his head to get a better look. “What’s this?”

“For you,” Finch muttered. She motioned with her wrist, prompting Kanai to take the little contraption from her. He held it delicately, turning it over to examine it, and Finch realized he wouldn’t necessarily know how to use it. “It’s, um, a thesaurus. If you flip the switch there and say a word, it’ll tell you the synonyms...”

“That’s delightful,” Kanai said as he switched it on.

“Delightful: enjoyable. Amusing. Lovely. Wonderful. Splendid,” the bird chirped, magic whirring it to life and powering the tiny clockwork mechanism that moved its beak open and closed. Kanai watched it intently.

“I made it just now,” Finch added, the fact that it wouldn’t necessarily be obvious belatedly occurring to her.

Kanai’s head snapped to look at her, his eyes round. “What? Just now?” he asked in disbelief.

“Now: currently. Presently. Today...”

Blood rushed to Finch’s cheeks, much to her chagrin. “I mean, it took most of the afternoon, but yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” As he turned back to the bird, which dutifully started chirping for “amazing,” Kanai’s face lit up in an actual, visible smile—the first true smile she’d seen from him since their reunion. Finch’s knees nearly buckled.

Don’t point out it’s a finch, she internally begged. There was a danger of literally self-combusting if he did. Finch had settled on a bird design only because it made sense for the form of a small, speaking contraption; the potential for misinterpreted implications of it didn’t hit her until it was far too late.

“I’d heard about you taking up artificing,” Kanai continued, still examining his gift and graciously turning it off. “And while I had no doubt you’d be excellent at it, it’s another thing to actually see the result of your work. Incredible job.”

Finch let out a small cough at the unexpected compliment. At least he hadn’t brought up the design. “Thanks?”

Kanai gave her a sidelong glance with an eyebrow raised.

“Thanks,” Finch repeated with less uncertainty.

He seemed satisfied at that. “I’ll treasure it,” he declared, then took a breath. “Now, I know you desperately want to run away, and I won’t stop you if you truly wish to leave, but I plan to stay up here a bit longer and would greatly enjoy your company.”

Indignant at the ease in which Kanai ascertained her exact state of mind, Finch crossed her arms and frowned but stayed put. It took her a moment to muster the will to speak the words, but she finally uttered, “I can stay.”

“Good,” was all Kanai said as he grabbed Finch by the sleeve and tugged her down. She barely managed to swallow a yelp of surprise as she fell into a sitting position next to him. Shingles clattered beneath her at the forceful collision.

Kanai promptly opened his journal back up and set the little thesaurus bird to work. After recovering from the embarrassment of the moment, Finch took the opportunity to point out that her invention also included an antonym setting and worked in Elvish in addition to common. Kanai expressed his delight at each one. Finch still didn’t know how to properly respond to overt praise, but she did find herself filled with a mild yet warm sense of pride at how genuinely impressed Kanai seemed with the gift. Under the fuzzy feelings, however, Finch’s heart ached a little with the hope that this counted as a step towards Kanai’s forgiveness.

The more time passed, the more Finch relaxed. This almost felt like old times on the palace rooftops, where the two of them went to get away from the stuffy atmosphere indoors—a compromised alternative to Finch causing mayhem, sometimes. The memory was strangely comforting.

The view from the Wishing Well’s roof frankly didn’t hold a candle to the spectacular panorama of Highcourt that the palace roofs offered, but it was beautiful all the same, and something could be said of the variety in the scenery. Being nestled among the undefined borders of multiple districts, they were mostly surrounded by the canopy of the Sanctuary forest, but the Wishing Well was just tall enough to allow a view above it. Certain tall landmarks rose above everything, such as the University bell tower and the giant Sanctuary tree itself. In the farther distance, lights began flickering into existence as the sky became rosy, making the Lantern District, Faith Hill, and Caucus easier to discern.

While Kanai wrote, Finch played with Cricket. The overgrown roof provided plenty of material for Finch to fashion a makeshift ball out of, which she launched into the open air before her for Cricket to catch and bring back. The remainder of the balmy evening passed this way, with occasional idle chatter between the two of them and a tacit agreement to enjoy this rare moment of contentment while it lasted.

***

As the last traces of sunlight faded, Kanai came to a good stopping point in his writing. His journal closed with a satisfying, muted clap, and it occurred to him that he and Finch hadn’t spoken for a while at that point. When he turned with his mouth open to speak, however, he was greeted by the sight of Finch sound asleep, and he swallowed his intended words.

One who knew Finch especially well might have noted that she found it difficult to sleep without at least a pillow and blanket for comfort. In more general knowledge, those with only partially elven blood tended to be quite restless sleepers, stuck in a limbo between the trance natural to elves and the true sleep of most other races. Finch was no exception to this despite the details of her non-elven half being unclear; anyone who spent any extended time with the tiefling would quickly become aware of her blanket-kicking, tossing-and-turning tendencies. She even fell prone to sleepwalking on occasion.

At that moment, Finch defied all these established facts as she peacefully dozed next to Kanai, her hands resting over Cricket, who had followed suit on her torso. Kanai sighed fondly, then went to put away his things.

Kanai’s attention was drawn back to Finch when a peculiar presence probed his mind, and he turned to see Cricket sitting up straight and practically glaring at him. The faerie dragon projected a psychic warning to Kanai: don’t wake her up.

After overcoming his mild surprise, Kanai held up his hands in an effort of appeasement. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured Cricket, voice hushed. “I daresay that could break my oath.”

If his conversation partner had been a person, perhaps they would have laughed at the half-joke. Cricket, however, seemed deadly serious, continuing to eye him warily for several seconds before finally assenting and settling back down.

“That being said,” Kanai murmured, “I would prefer she not spend the entire night out here.” He looked at Cricket, imploring his permission to proceed. Cricket huffed his begrudging approval.

A faint smile graced Kanai’s lips, equal parts amusement and affection. “I’m glad someone was looking after her in my absence.”

With great pains to not make too much noise, Kanai managed to stand and scoop up Finch. A tense moment passed in which she stirred slightly but ultimately remained asleep, to Kanai’s relief.

A wave of bittersweet nostalgia engulfed Kanai at the sight of the princess in his arms; carrying her to her room after she’d fallen asleep didn’t happen terribly often, but that made the few times it had all the more poignant. Of course, she looked drastically different now, with her shorn hair and tiefling features no longer hidden, but it felt the same. She was still his obstinate, irreverent, wild princess.

Luckily, he didn’t have far to go before reaching the third floor common area; just a hop off the roof onto an odd balcony that had stairs going down to it. While Kanai found no reason to be embarrassed by his actions, he did know that Finch would... not appreciate being seen like this, to put it lightly.

Kanai did have to settle for placing Finch on one of the couches outside of her room rather than her loft bed, given the need for a ladder. Besides, he wasn’t even certain he’d be able to get in to her room in the first place, considering all the locks on the door. Finch had been quite proud of her room when she’d shown it to Kanai, of course.

As he draped a blanket across Finch, Kanai heard footsteps and quickly turned to see Norn coming up the stairs. They regarded him with raised eyebrows, taking in the scene.

Despite himself, Kanai felt himself blush ever-so-slightly, as if on Finch’s behalf. Making an effort to keep his composure, he raised a finger to his lips.

Norn rolled their eyes, then gave Kanai an amused wink before continuing to ascend the stairs to their quarters.

Kanai let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. With one last glance at Finch to ensure she still slept, he went downstairs to his own room. The space was rather ascetic, only having a plain bed, desk, and a stand for his armor and sword. Not that Kanai would have decorated lavishly even if he’d had the time to do so, but the room admittedly didn’t quite feel like his own yet. The addition of the mechanical bird on his desk felt like a nice start, however.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Just Talk to Him

Just confess your feelings you didn't even know you had a few hours ago to one of your closest friends who is already taken! You'll feel so good about it! AKA Opal finds out Finch has a crush on Donahue and gets a little too excited about fostering communication in the party. Donahue belongs to @brick-brooke.

{ao3 link}

Finch poked miserably at her dinner, not taking her eyes off the plate before her. Opal had made one of her favorite foods, kebabs, and normally Finch would have been excited and even grateful. Tonight, however, she felt the exact opposite, precisely because she knew why Opal had cooked this particular dish.

Zeus proved to be the saving grace of the evening, talking away like nothing was amiss. But Finch felt fairly certain every other person at the table had picked up on the misery radiating off of her, given the lack of dialogue happening on their parts. And if Finch’s demeanor wasn’t hint enough of something strange going on, Opal’s blatant, eager staring at her would surely tip them off.

Finch refused to meet her gaze. A brittle, distressing concoction of dread, confusion, and anger had settled in Finch’s chest, and it was certain to burst if she faced Opal. Finch did care about her friends enough to not want to cause a totally unpleasant scene at a meal.

Dessert came. Donahue’s favorite. Finch’s teeth clenched. She couldn’t believe Opal was trying to make her do this.

Just a few hours ago, Finch had approached Opal and trusted her with helping sort out her thoughts and feelings, something she’d never done before. But she had come to regret doing so. As soon as Opal settled on the label of “romantic” for how Finch felt about Donahue, she jumped to insisting that Finch confess to him. That night. And didn’t let Finch get a word in edgewise before rushing off to prepare this special dinner.

What am I even supposed to say? “Hey. I’m having weird feelings about you. Deal with it?” The very idea made Finch sick to her stomach. She wasn’t even sure if she believed Opal’s conclusion!

The plates disappearing from Finch’s view brought her back to reality. Opal was clearing the table, pep in her step as she took dishes back to the kitchen. Norn offered to help. Zeus said something about tak and went upstairs with Kanai, of all people. Finch mentally kicked herself, wishing she had joined so she could have an excuse to leave.

Norn leaving with the last of the dishes left just Finch and Donahue in the dining area. Finch slowly, carefully lifted her head to look at him and found his gaze already on her, his expression comprised mostly of confusion but also a notable amount of concern.

The tiny part of Finch that still trusted Opal, that didn’t want to disappoint her, tried to entertain the idea of humoring her. Right away, the alarm bells of her imagination, envisioning every possible way it could go horribly, drowned that out.

Yet Finch still found herself frozen in place, gaze locked with Donahue’s.

Only a second or two had passed before he asked, “Are you okay?”

He’s so nice. Wait. Shit. No. Finch’s heart leapt into her throat, beating wildly—Dammit, stop betraying me, body!—as if it were trying to physically escape, or suffocate her, or both. Seconds felt like hours as she stared into those pretty—No! Fuck!—blue eyes.

Gods fucking damn it, Opal was right.

With the realization a cold, hard stone of despair dropped into Finch’s stomach. And then a very real urge to puke overtook her, and she bolted, not caring how loud her feet slammed against the floorboards as she ascended the stairs.

Once in her room, Finch scaled the ladder to her bed in record time and dove into the blankets, determined to hide away from the world. Practically gasping for breath, she tried to calm herself down, though her mind couldn’t be stopped from grappling with this new truth.

She liked Donahue, and she hated it.

A weight settled between Finch’s shoulder blades; Cricket chirped quietly and shoved his snout by her cheek. Finch rolled over and the little dragon deftly maneuvered to avoid being squashed, settling on her chest and resting his head by her collar bone. Finch petted him gently, sending telepathic gratitude his way. Heartfelt words never came naturally to Finch. The ability to exchange raw emotions, with all nuance intact, directly with another was a relief.

*THUNK THUNK*

Finch tensed at the knock on the door. She nearly yelled a “fuck off” before recognizing that the sound was far too forceful to be Opal. “Who is it?”

“Norn,” came the muffled response.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Finch clambered down from her bed and undid all but one of the locks on the door, the last of which only allowed her to open it a crack.

The triton’s golden eyes pierced right through Finch. It was always difficult for her to keep still under Norn’s intensity no matter the situation, but she managed to put up a fragile impassive facade as she waited for Norn to speak.

“You should talk to him.”

If Norn had said literally anything else, perhaps Finch could have had a chance at maintaining her straight face. As it was, her mouth instantly twisted into a scowl. “So Opal told you everything,” she said flatly, stating rather than asking.

“Yes.” Norn’s brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. “And even aside from Opal’s opinion, I think you need to hash this all out with Donahue.”

“I don’t know why everyone seems to think that,” Finch said through gritted teeth.

“Because you’ll feel better.”

There that phrase was again. Opal had said the same thing. How the hell would ruining her friendship with Donahue make her feel better? “No, I really don’t think I will!” Finch struggled to keep her voice from going up an octave.

Norn tapped a foot. “How about getting this off your chest so you’re not distracted in a fight? Or so the manipulative demon we’re about to hunt doesn’t take advantage of you?”

Finch scoffed. I’m not a fucking idiot. In fact, a fight sounded like the perfect way to refocus and stop fixating on this mess. A plethora of offended retorts came to Finch’s mind, but she held her tongue, settling for a quiet but firm, “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Norn clearly wanted to push that angle further, but as their eyes searched Finch’s stubborn face, she could practically see the gears turning in their head. Wisely, they decided to drop it in favor of a different approach: “You trusted Opal enough to talk to her about your feelings. Why don’t you trust her advice?”

Unable to answer right away, Finch made a face as though she had eaten something unpleasant, recalling the sequence of the conversation that led to Opal’s bizarre conclusion. There were plenty of answers to Norn’s question, but Norn almost certainly wouldn’t accept any of them without a long-winded explanation of the entire event, which Finch was not inclined to do there at the doorway. So, naturally, she responded with an even more unsatisfactory answer: “Reasons. I just don’t, okay?”

“Come on.” Frustration leaked into Norn’s voice. “Listen, it’s not just your ass on the line in battle. It’s all of us. I know you don’t want any of us killed.”

Finch’s chest tightened at the insinuation Norn was making. If this kept on, she might burst into flames, which wouldn’t be fun for anyone. “I already said. That. Won’t. Happen.”

“But if you just talk—”

“I can’t— I’m not ready!” Finch snapped, her voice wavering dangerously. She desperately wanted to slam the door in Norn’s face, but they were Finch’s friend, despite everything, and she knew that they at least thought they were helping. This charitable line of thinking formed the single thread keeping that impulse at bay.

Luckily, those words seemed to get through to Norn. They pursed their lips, then sighed. “Fine. I won’t force you if you’re not ready. But promise me you’ll talk to him eventually.”

“Eventually. Sure.” Anything to get Norn to leave her the fuck alone right now.

“Good,” Norn said. The word had barely left their mouth before a hefty clunk punctuated it, courtesy of Finch yanking the door shut. The rudeness surely offended Norn, but hesitation on Finch’s part might have allowed them to continue speaking. All Finch knew was that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—talk about this anymore.

Alone at last, Finch leaned back and sank to the ground. A sob escaped her mouth. Fucking embarrassing, she chided herself, but found herself powerless to stop the tears.

Cricket wasted no time on gliding over to curl around Finch’s neck, his warm body rumbling in an attempt at comfort. She wanted to convey her thanks, but her volatile state of mind made it difficult.

Why is everyone pushing this so hard? Why should I have to confess to someone I know doesn’t reciprocate? Why does this hurt so damn much?

Anger, Finch could handle. Sadness proved much more difficult. Especially when mixed with confusion, hopelessness, and humiliation. Usually, Finch’s brain would simply convert it all into anger, but it wasn’t working this time for some reason. She found it in herself to be immensely irritated at Opal, certainly, but what Finch contended with went far beyond just the events of the evening.

Who was Finch supposed to be angry at for her own stupid feelings? Not Opal. Not Norn. Not even Donahue. As much as Finch wished she could find a way to pin it on him, she knew that would be unfair. She didn’t want to be angry at Donahue. On account of the stupid fucking feelings. The whole thing was appallingly mortifying. Of course, that only left herself to blame.

And she hadn’t even touched the ticking time bomb of how she felt about Kanai and Fix.

Finch buried her face into the crook of her arms resting on her knees in a feeble attempt to muffle the sounds she was making, praying no one passed by outside and heard her. She gave up on trying to suppress the crying, letting all her wretched emotions out.

It felt like hours before Finch ran out of tears, but it must have only been twenty minutes or so. When she lifted her head, her breath still hitching with each inhale, Cricket slid down from her neck to the pocket of space between her legs and chest, licking at the salty residue on her face and eliciting some involuntary ticklish laughs from her.

“Cricket, stop,” Finch breathlessly protested. Cricket obliged Finch’s request, but instead took to pressing his head against her forehead and broadcasting a pleading, restless sentiment. “Okay, fine, we’ll go see what Zeus and Kanai are up to. Once my eyes stop being so puffy.”

Remarkably and unexpectedly, Finch did feel a bit better after having cried. The endless deluge of distressing thoughts didn’t seem to be overwhelming her anymore, at least, having retreated to the back of her mind. Her feelings were her problem, and she would make sure nobody else had to handle them for her. Hopefully nothing like this would ever happen again.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

The Card

A recounting of an in-game scene in which Donahue expresses his affection(?) for Finch in the only way he knows how: cryptically and awkwardly. For better or worse, Finch isn't much better at communicating. Donahue is @brick-brooke's character!

{ao3 link}

Finch sat at one of the tables in the Wishing Well’s loft area, tinkering with various metal bits and pieces with unclear purpose to most who would walk by. At one point, a shadow cast over her work announced the arrival of a visitor. Finch looked up to see Donahue standing there, making no attempt at a greeting.

“Oh, hey,” Finch said, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” was all Donahue said. After a small hesitation, he handed her a folded piece of paper, clearly torn out of a notebook judging by its soft edge. The front was blank.

Finch cast Donahue a quizzical look.

Clearing his throat, Donahue said, “It’s a card. You don’t have to keep it.”

“I can see that,” Finch said slowly. “Why...?”

“Do you know what a card is?” His gaze was expectant; he wanted her to open it.

Finch rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know what a card is, jackass. It’s just you usually... you don’t...” Finch trailed off, realizing how stupid it sounded to try explaining how greeting cards worked. “Fine.” She opened the card and tried to ignore its author watching her intently as she read it.

Finch, Sorry for getting the last blow on your brother. I know you probably wanted it. But I guess we’re even over Lillian now.

Finch cracked a bemused smile, glancing back up at Donahue. “Didn’t want to just say those words out loud to me, huh?”

“Not really,” Donahue said, impassive as ever.

Weirdo, but whatever. “Well, no apology needed. I’m not mad at you over this.” She wagged the card. “Zal’gaelin is dead and that’s what counts.”

“Sometimes closure is nice to get on stuff like that. Last words and all.” Donahue shifted on his feet. “Is there... anything you wanted to say to him?”

Finch blinked, considering the question. “No. He terrorized me my whole childhood. Not much to say there other than ‘fuck you,’ which I’ve already done plenty. And then he would’ve just said ‘fuck you’ back.”

“Are you going to reach out to your other brother or sister?”

He’s chatty today, Finch thought. So many questions, and while Donahue’s face became less stiff with each one, he was still difficult to read. Finch kept her wondering to herself and replied, “My other brother as in Lorel’onas? Absolutely not, he’s an asshole. Why would I do that?”

“Well, with you being heir to the throne now—” Finch gritted her teeth at the reminder. “—I thought you might want to check if your other siblings changed their minds about abdicating. Or if they wanted to help.”

That elicited a derisive snort from Finch. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Lorel’onas wants nothing to do with me.” She paused, then sighed. “But you’re right, maybe I should contact my sister. It’s just... weird.”

“She tried talking to you about a year ago, right?”

“At the Horowitz party, yeah. I was fresh out of the palace and too paranoid to believe she was on my side. Like, she never contributed to the rest of my family being shitty, but also...”

“She never stopped it,” Donahue supplied, nodding. “You’ve changed a lot in the past year. Maybe she has too.”

Finch raised an eyebrow. “She’s an elf, I kind of doubt that. But... I guess I have.” She couldn’t articulate how, but Finch knew she wasn’t the same jumpy, terrified fugitive that had run away. Part of her wanted to ask Donahue how he thought she’d changed, but she couldn’t bring herself to, perhaps afraid of the answer.

The lull in conversation allowed the fact that Donahue had just been standing next to Finch the whole time to sink in. Finch shifted in her seat, sitting up somewhat straighter. “You know, you can like, sit down,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across the table.

“No.” Donahue’s response was immediate, and with it his face reverted right back to its normal stoniness. “I have stuff I need to do.”

“Oh. All right.” What should have been a snarky, Okay, fuck you too, came out a pathetic concession instead thanks to an unexpectedly profound sense of disappointment. She nearly hissed at herself, hoping Donahue hadn’t noticed.

If he did, he didn’t say anything. Without so much as a goodbye, he walked away.

“Bye...” Finch muttered, shaking her head and turning to continue her previous task.

Absent-mindedly, Finch turned the card in her hands over, ready to set it down, but was met by something on the back of it: a sketch of a formal suit, with enough details to show embroidery along the trim and for the thought that it looked nice to cross Finch’s mind. The “card” had likely been torn out of the journal Donahue coveted so much, and one of Donahue’s hobbies was fashion. It didn’t surprise her that he might sketch outfits before taking the ideas to the tailor.

And then Finch noticed the mostly-erased remnants of the suit’s occupant; a smudge where the head should be was not quite obscured enough to hide the unique pair of twisting horns. Finch’s horns.

She stared. What the fuck?

Plenty of images had been drawn—painted, even—of her in the palace. But those were all portraits of Princess Ven’thanyrias’elae, the perfect pure-blooded high elven royal child the emperor pretended he had. Nobody had ever, to her knowledge, drawn Finch before, let alone on their own whim. Not that she necessarily wanted people to, but the sight of this simple, half-erased sketch was causing a host of strange sensations in her guts, like her organs were twisting themselves into knots—

As if the paper would burn her if she held onto it any longer, Finch shoved it into a pocket. Weird internal shit was best left for later, once she could be alone in her room, not here where anyone could walk by at any moment. This is a problem for future Finch, she told herself as she turned to the welcome distraction of trinkets laid out on the table to fiddle with.

***

Past Finch is a bitch, future Finch thought. Being alone with her thoughts later didn’t exactly help the gut-churning issue. At least she could prevent anyone from encountering her in the sanctum that was her room. The door had at least five different locks on it of various types; a practical collection for both study and keeping even the nosiest of friends out. Not even Kanai would be getting in here without Finch’s express permission.

Finch lay nestled in the veritable fortress of plush blankets and pillows that made up her bed, located in a makeshift loft six feet off the ground in one corner of the room. She felt anything but cozy, however; the card was once more in her hands and she had resumed boring holes into it with her stare. Cricket trilled softly as he played some sort of game with himself, darting between pillows.

A tangled mess of thoughts, questions and assumed answers, bombarded Finch’s brain: So he envisioned the outfit with her in mind? (Yes, of course he did, he drew you in it.) Did he mean for her to see this? (He wouldn’t be careless enough to accidentally leave something like this there.) But why erase her from it? (Because he’s embarrassed?) And why not just show her directly? (Also because he’s embarrassed.) Why the hell would he be embarrassed? (He gets embarrassed if you look at him wrong. It’s part of why he’s fun.) If he did intend for her to see it, why tell her to throw it away? (I don’t know.) And what was he hoping for her to do in response to seeing it? (I don’t know.) Why was she thinking so damn hard about this? (I don’t know!)

At this point Finch’s face burned; her intense thoughts might as well have been overheating her head. But she couldn’t stop them.

Cricket slithered between Finch’s arms to rest his head on her chin, a wave of concern emanating from him. That helped break the loop her thoughts were stuck in. Finch took a deep breath and smiled at Cricket, giving him a pat on the head for his trouble.

Moving on, then. The way she saw it, Finch had a few options for handling this:

Ignore it. Toss the card and pretend she hadn’t seen the drawing. Eliminate the chance of a supremely weird conversation altogether.

Talk to Donahue about it. Given he hadn’t acknowledged it himself during their conversation, this seemed like a guaranteed ticket to an awkward conversation.

Respond in kind with a card of her own. Turn it into a game. But this relied on Donahue having intended for Finch to see it.

Despite the first option being the easiest by far, Finch felt reluctant to choose it. The mystery was too intriguing; the potential interaction too enticing; the gesture too nice to simply throw away.

Option 2 might get answers fast, but held a high risk of mortification for both parties. Finch could envision Donahue clamming up entirely at being confronted with evidence of his kindness. Or, if that didn’t happen, he could potentially hold the fact that she’d kept the card over her. Finch would rather die than allow that to pass.

That left option 3. Finch loved a good game, especially with Donahue, so the idea was slowly growing on her. A considerable hurdle remained, however: if she didn’t get confirmation that Donahue wanted her to respond, the same issues as option 2 remained.

If any of the rest of SPF had known she was still awake, Finch had no doubt they’d tell her to sleep. With how agitated her thoughts were, though, that wasn’t an option for the time being. Finch sat up. “Come on, Cricket. We need to brainstorm.”

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Trial of Lies

Finch and her party had to overcome the trials of the Five Sisters, a group of evil goddesses, to reach an augur that held vital information for the whole group. During the first trial, Finch and Donahue find their trust put to the test. Donahue is @brick-brooke's character.

{ao3 link}

The silence in the shadowy cave weighed like a suffocating blanket over Finch and Donahue. They both stared, horrified, at the bridge they had watched their friends cross... and then witnessed each of them plummet into the abyss below.

Finch rubbed her temples and began to pace in a small circle. “It’s just an illusion, they didn’t make any sound,” she muttered, repeating the phrase a few times to assure herself. Logically, that made the most sense, considering they were performing the trials of literally evil gods.

To add to that argument, Opal seemed to have had some revelation before she crossed, stating confidently that this was the room representing lies, not darkness as the group had originally guessed. She told them to close their eyes and trust they’d make it to the other side. Then she’d appeared to fall like the rest.

After that it was only Ham, Finch, and Donahue left. Ham had volunteered to go with them all at once, but the idea of putting that much weight on the bridge made Finch hesitate too long. Donahue had also declined. Ham had a particular look of concern he often gave Finch that always made her want to shrink and hide somewhere, and it was that expression he gave the both of them before going on his own and also “falling.”

It briefly occurred to Finch that perhaps Ham had been asking for moral support for himself as well as offering it for them, and she felt a little twinge of guilt, but the present situation quickly overshadowed it.

Even knowing what they did, it was hard to shake the image of their friends falling to their deaths, especially without proof that they were actually on the other very empty-looking side. It also didn’t help that the bridge was the textbook definition of “rickety,” with frayed rope and rotting wooden slats, of which they had seen several break under their friends’ feet.

Donahue shifted his attention towards Finch, his arms crossed. “Well, you wanna go first?”

Finch shot him a pointed look. “How about you?”

He offered no reply. Both of them grimaced. Again, logically, there wasn’t much reason for them to be hesitating. The entrance to the trials had sealed shut behind them, so the remaining person couldn’t leave even if they wanted to. Also, deep down inside, Finch knew that if all their companions had truly died... her reaction wouldn’t be so mild. The trial itself must have been messing with their minds, taking advantage of their pre-existing paranoia. And boy, did the both of them have plenty to spare.

“Fuck it, should we just go together?” The frustrated words left Finch’s mouth of their own accord. Her cheeks burned a bit as the suggestion sunk in–not only was it embarrassing, but blatantly hypocritical–but she didn’t take it back.

Donahue blinked and took a moment to think. Right as Finch started to formulate arguments as to why it would be better to go at the same time, he settled on a decision. “Fuck it,” he agreed, then swiftly hooked his arm around Finch’s and dragged her forward.

The contents of Finch’s mind instantly became a jumbled mess at the unexpected physical contact, and it was all she could do to match Donahue’s pace without stumbling and grab the rope railing with her free hand. As her feet hit the bridge, Finch recalled Opal’s words and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Finch intoned under her breath for the duration of the crossing. If Donahue said anything, Finch couldn’t hear it over the chaotic thoughts fighting for dominance in her mind.

Don’t think about the chasm. I can’t believe Donahue agreed to that idea. Don’t think about how easy it would be to trip right now. Also can’t believe he grabbed me like that.

Suddenly Finch became hyper-aware of Donahue’s presence pressing at her side.

Don’t think about that either, that’s weird. But I guess it’s also... She couldn’t find a word for it. But it wasn’t bad, whatever it was. This realization mildly surprised Finch herself, given her rather severe aversion to people touching her.

Then Finch’s awareness retreated back to herself as she felt memories of other people, people who were gone now and likely never coming back, clamoring to the surface of her mind. Finch almost wanted to scream. What is wrong with me?! She didn’t understand where these unprompted... things were coming from. Back at home, where there were reminders of Fix everywhere and she could wallow? Sure. But now of all times?

Desperately, Finch shoved the bittersweet recollections back into the depths, where they would hopefully drown. Think of anything but them.

As if to oblige her request, a different memory came to the forefront: a time before Finch was confident in her relationship with the other members of SPF, during a trip to Leandra’s shop. Donahue had swooped in and bought a potion she’d been clearly eyeing and Finch had been convinced he’d done it out of spite, buying it for the sake of keeping it from her. Like something one of her brothers would do. But after they left, he’d stopped and given it to her, which utterly floored Finch. First, she couldn’t fathom why he’d spent his own money when she’d had much more to spare. Second, and more importantly, no one had ever simply given her a gift without an ulterior motive.

Okay, fine, but why that right now? Finch’s chest tightened in an odd way, and she couldn’t be sure whether to blame her fear or her current train of thought.

Why is Donahue so... nice?

Finch didn’t have time to ponder the question as her feet finally hit solid ground and the sound of their friends’ voices filled her ears. Blissfully, the whirlwind of thoughts faded into the background. They were still happening, but now Finch could focus on other things.

Letting out a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding, Finch opened her eyes right as Opal rushed forward and nearly lifted both her and Donahue off the ground.

“I knew you could do it!” the dragonborn joyfully cried, her smile wide. Finch stiffened, as she always did when hugged, and she felt Donahue do the same beside her. But the relief that swelled within her allowed Finch to hesitantly reach up and pat Opal’s arm—far more reciprocation than she’d ever done for previous Opal hugs.

“Glad you’re not dead,” Finch said weakly. Opal chuckled and said something in response, but Finch wasn’t listening. Instead, she glanced at Donahue in her periphery.

Normally the two of them would have shared a silent look of wryness or exasperation in a situation like this. As soon as his blue gaze met hers, however, Finch’s eyes darted away, and she had no idea why.

Opal let them go and the group began discussing the plan of approach for the next chamber. Finch busied herself with brushing off and adjusting her outfit, internally waving off the way her heart was pounding as a remnant of the adrenaline rush of the whole ordeal. Everything is fine and normal. Right?

[isabelasfriendfiction]

another kiss prompt

a kiss to make up for an argument

a dominating kiss to end an argument 

a gentle kiss to ask forgiveness 

a kiss against shoulder blades as arms wrap around from behind 

a kiss against the shoulder after waking up beside each other 

a kiss to distract

a kiss against tear stained cheek

a kiss on the brow 

a kiss where they’re both covered in blood

a kiss after one muse has killed for the other 

a kiss after one muse has injured the other 

a kiss between enemies who should be fighting 

a kiss between exes who meant to walk away 

a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling 

an adoring kiss because the other is rambling 

a kiss to end sexual tension 

an angry kiss 

a tearful kiss 

a kiss to prove a point 

a hesitant kiss 

a kiss from one muse who should be afraid of the other 

a kiss from a muse who the other should be afraid of 

kisses scattered along hardened jaw to try and sooth 

a kiss as if trying to answer a question 

a kiss between furrowed brows to try and comfort 

a kiss from someone the other didn’t think thought of them that way 

a kiss that says thank you 

a kiss on the corner of the mouth,  hoping for more but expecting nothing 

an exploratory kiss,  testing the waters between them 

a kiss on the forehead of one who is starting to fall asleep 

a kiss against the cheek after discovering the other is napping 

a platonic kiss just meant to express overwhelming emotion 

a kiss to comfort both parties

a kiss stemmed from relief 

a kiss to make the other believe professed feelings 

a possessive kiss to remind the other who they belong to 

a possessive kiss to show the world they belong to each other

a kiss stemmed from jealousy 

a kiss to make someone else jealous 

a biting,  passionate kiss 

a kiss against the neck which feels more like a bite,  teeth bruising skin 

a desperate kiss as if they are convinced they’ll slip through each other’s fingers 

a kiss to make each other feel alive 

a kiss stolen away in a corner,  ignoring crowds 

a kiss after being pulled into an alley to have a moment to themselves 

a kiss after grabbing the other’s arm and pulling them back close 

a kiss to convince the other to stay 

a kiss like they’re trying to convince the other to love them 

a hopeful kiss in the rain

a desperate kiss in the rain 

an angry kiss in the rain 

a possessive kiss in the rain 

a playful,  happy kiss in the rain 

a passionate kiss stemmed from previous heartbreak in the rain 

a kiss in the rain to make up like it’s a damn romcom 

a kiss in the rain filled with the foreboding of a goodbye 

a kiss to make the other stop being stubborn 

a kiss after treating a wound 

a defiant kiss 

a kiss between partners in crime in front of someone they hold captive 

a kiss to anger a third party 

an adrenaline filled kiss shared after committing a crime 

a surprise kiss just because the other couldn’t stop thinking about it 

[isabelasfriendfiction]

A Case of the Chills

Not me posting writing for the first time in 4 years?! I'd like to introduce you to some of the characters from my primary D&D campaign over the last few years. Finch is my tiefling arcane trickster rogue, Donahue is @brick-brooke's half-elf hexblade warlock, and Opal is another friend's dragonborn twilight cleric. More info on these characters can always be found on my main blog, @alistairweekend. The AO3 version of this includes art by Opal's player!

{ao3 link}

Finch was actually disappointed when her watch ended and she had to leave the soft warmth of the fire. After decades of living in a temperature-controlled palace and then several months in the tropical city of Kovali, adjusting to the temperate forest the Society for the Preservation of Fill found themselves in was proving a far larger problem than anticipated. Frankly, the situation baffled Finch. It wasn’t as if her clothing lacked, or there weren’t enough blankets, and by all accounts she ran warmer than most. Something about this forest just gave her the chills... literally.

As she exited the campfire’s embrace, Cricket landed on Finch’s shoulder and snuggled into the crook of her neck. “You cold too, buddy?” she murmured, reaching up to scratch the little faerie dragon’s head. Maybe she’d ask everyone in the morning how they were feeling.

She ducked into her tent and, taking care to avoid the two lumps that were Donahue and Opal, swiftly burrowed into the blankets of her spot in the middle. Cold. Of course. She gritted her teeth to try and prevent herself from shivering, holding on to the fact that the blankets should trap her body heat soon.

Minutes passed. And passed. Finch shifted, hoping finding a comfortable position would solve the issue, but she remained conscious. It was still just cold enough to be uncomfortable. Frustration bubbled in her chest.

At one point Finch heard rustling blankets as if in response to her movement. She stilled herself. “Donahue?” she whispered. “You up?”

No response. Finch let out an audible exhale through her nose. Then Cricket’s head poked out of the blankets, and he wriggled out to nimbly flit to the person on Finch’s left, an action rewarded with a grunt.

Finch rolled on to her side to face towards Donahue, who was nothing more than a mound of blankets with a faery dragon on top, nipping at the strands of blue hair sticking out. “So you are awake.”

“Maybe so,” he grumbled. “I’d like to not be, though.”

“Did I wake you up?”

He seemed to think about it. “...Yes.”

“Liar!” Finch hissed, propping herself up on an elbow and using her other arm to smack the blanket lump with her pillow. She immediately regretted the frigid air allowed to touch her skin at doing so, however, and gasped. “Gods, it’s fucking freezing. Are you cold?”

It was barely audible, but Finch made out a sigh from Donahue. “Yeah.” A moment passed, then he shifted to finally reveal his head. Cricket quietly trilled in delight and wasted no time in squeezing under the blankets, poking his head out right underneath Donahue’s chin. Donahue paid no mind and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re cold?”

Finch pouted. “I know. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m starting to think it isn’t natural. It’s why I’m still up.”

Donahue’s demeanor seemed to sharpen into something more serious. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“Technically, I don’t ‘sleep,’” Finch said, gesturing at her long elven ears.

Donahue scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Two can play at that. Neither do I.” He also waved a hand at his own tapered ears. “You know what I mean.”

Finch poked her tongue out at him but relented. “I was able to rest last night.”

“Ah. Lucky.”

“Oh? When did you last sleep?”

“Mind your own business.”

“Really? You’re gonna ask me and then say it’s none of my business to ask you the same thing, bitch?”

Donahue looked like he wanted to retort again, but his body betrayed him by making yawn, which he tried to stifle. “Ugh, fine. Two days ago.” Now that he said it, Finch did notice the dark circles under his eyes, even in the limited lighting. And he had seemed more tired than usual during the day, which was saying something.

“This is bad.” Finch put a hand to her face. “Especially if the others aren’t sleeping either. Though Opal seems fine...” She glanced to the right at their dragonborn companion, much more sprawled out than either of the blanket cocoons Finch and Donahue had made.

“Well, she’s a white dragonborn,” Donahue reasoned, “So she probably has way more resilience to cold than anyone else...”

“Mmmwha?” Opal suddenly mumbled drowsily, causing both Finch and Donahue to go wide-eyed and tense. Just as Finch was ready to believe she’d gone back to sleep, she spoke again, somewhat slurred: “You guys talkin’?”

“Sorry, Opal,” Donahue said, slightly above a whisper this time. “Go back to sleep. We’ll try to be quieter.”

Opal raised her head and rubbed her eyes, blinking a few times at them. The blonde fur tufts along her head and neck stuck out at wild angles. “You both aren’t sleeping?”

“Too cold,” Finch explained.

“That’s no good.” Opal’s brow furrowed as though thinking hard, though she was clearly still three-quarters asleep. “All right, everybody c’mere.”

Opal leaned forward, and suddenly blankets were being shifted and rearranged to the sounds of Finch and Donahue’s confusion and protest. When she was finished, all three of them were under the same pile of bedding. Finch found herself sandwiched between Opal and Donahue, not quite touching but still much closer than before, and she felt her face heat up. “I-Is this really necessary?”

“Warmer now, right?” Opal sounded entirely too pleased with herself. She stretched her neck out, which was just long enough to position her head right above Donahue’s. Cricket seemed thrilled by the new arrangement, settling in between Finch and Donahue’s shoulders.

Donahue had been incredibly tense, but slowly relaxed, if only a little. “Whatever. If it’ll help us sleep...”

“This is so embarrassing,” Finch groaned. “Nobody learns about this, got it?”

Donahue sighed and nodded, but Finch had more been asking Opal. Judging from the lack of response and steady breathing, however, she had already fallen back asleep. How did she do that so quickly?

Now Finch found herself worried about not sleeping for an entirely different reason. She had never shared a bed with anyone before, and was entirely too aware of both of her companions’ presences. She became acutely aware of the fact that any shifting she did could disturb them. But as the minutes ticked by, Opal was, to Finch’s chagrin, proven correct as the remaining chill faded away and her eyes fluttered shut.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Fluff Prompts II

1. “Dance with me!”

2. “You know you don’t have to ask for a hug.  Come here, sweetheart.”

3. “I just…you’re so pretty.”

4. “Your hands are so soft.”

5. “I love you.”  “What was that?”  “I said I love you.”  “I know, I heard you the first time.  I just wanted to hear you say it again.  I love you too.”

6. “No kisses for a week if you don’t settle down!”  *fake offended gasp*

7. “I still can’t believe I was lucky enough to have you wander into my life.”

8. “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right?”

9. “Of course as soon as you sit on my lap, my bladder decides to make its presence known.”

10. “Give me your hand, love.”

11. “Kissing you is my favorite hobby.”

12. “You two are gross.”  “You’re just mad because you know you’ll never have this.”

13. “Stop talking yourself down, babe.  You’re amazing.”

14. “I can’t decide if I like kissing you on the forehead, cheek, or lips more.”

15. “I promise I’ll never break your heart and tell you I don’t love you anymore.”

16. “Oh quit your pouting.  I’m not gonna leave.”

17. “Your hugs make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

18. “No good morning kiss for me?”  “Oh, right!  My bad.”

19. “You are unbelievably cute when you’re mad.”

20. “Can I kiss you?”

21. “You’re just as beautiful as you were the day I met you.  Perhaps more.”

22. “I am so in love with you.”

23. “My favorite color is your eyes.”

24. “The dog’s had enough cuddles.  It’s my turn!”

25. “Just one kiss?”  “Ugh, fine.”  “Jeez, love you too.”  “I’m just kidding, love.  Come here.”

26. “Did you steal my spot because you wanted to sit on my lap?”

27. “Come here.  I want cuddles.”

28. “Good morning, my love.”

29. “Hey so this one’s mine and no one else is allowed to have them!”

30. “You are adorable.”

31. “Just seeing your face gives me so much dopamine.”

32. “Give me another hug.  You’re warm.”

33. “Aww, are you getting flustered?”

34. “How much do you love me?”  “Let’s see…how big is the universe?”

35. “I don’t ever want to forget this moment.”

36. “I’ve kissed so many girls/boys right where you’re standing, but I can promise that you will be the last.”

37. “Give me a kiss.”

38. “Can I hold your hand?”

39. “I love you.  So much.”

40. “I love when I put my head on your lap and you play with my hair.”

41. “Carry me.”

42. “Can you stay with me?”  “Of course, my love.  Always.”

43. “I’ve been wanting to be with you for so long.”

44. “Why are you staring at me?”  “Because you’re beautiful.”

45. “I knew you were the one the second my lips touched yours.”

[isabelasfriendfiction]

INTIMANCY PROMPTS !

( feel free to request for characters on my masterlist )

a palm kiss

laying atop each other, kissing shoulders

touching foreheads

kissing their temple

holding hands, kissing the back of it

teasingly kissing the tip of the nose

kissing scars

interrupting with a kiss

watching movies / tv shows

going on a date

sharing secrets

hugs

cuddles

sharing drinks

talking

touching noses

laying your head on someone’s shoulder

playing with hair

back scratches

a hand written note

listening to someone’s heartbeat

nicknames

wearing someone’s clothes

teasing

falling asleep in their arms

play fighting

hugs from behind

pulling someone in by the waist

kisses when they’re mad

being protective

holding someone by the waist

neck kisses

lingering hugs

glancing at lips

running your finger down their spine

being pushed against a wall

smiling while kissing

delightful smiles

falling in someone’s arms

missing them

washing each other’s hair

doing each other’s hair

falling asleep with their head in your lap

head scratches

running hands through hair

making a blanket fort

cuddling under blankets

offering the other your coat

caring for them when they’re ill

patching up a wound

slow dancing

crying into their shoulder

cheek kisses

reading a book together

shoulder rubs

playing with their hair

secretly dating

being locked in a small space

a height difference

sitting in their lap

[isabelasfriendfiction]

One Word Prompt List

For this, you can pick a word and a character, send it to me, and I’ll write a drabble/prompt about it. (You can still sent in sentence prompts, I just thought this would be fun!) You can also send in multiple character for the same word.

Hate

Love

Forgive

Need

Guilt

Scream

Wish

Laugh

Drunk

Gone

Remember

Forget

Hurt

Broken

Happy

Alone

Survive

Surrender

Lies

Truth

Distant

Close

Dance

Rescue

Secret

Danger

Safe

Electric

Found

Time

Betrayed

Death

Sleep

Fight

Kiss

Friend

Enemy

Fear

Panic

Trust

Shatter

Light

Dark

Rain

Collide

Heart

Regret

Dream

Hope

Mistake

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Romantic/Fluff Sentence Starters!

“You have something in your hair - let me get it for you.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help but stare at you.”

“Um, would it be okay if I held your hand?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“You’re the most important person in my life.”

“Are you tired? Here, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

“I’m not much of a chef, but… I really hope you like this.”

“Sorry for calling so late - I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I need you more than you need me.”

“I want to kiss you and hold your hand any time I want.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you… I can’t.”

“The truth is… I love you.”

“You like me more than you like them, right? Right?”

“Be mine. Please.”

“I am who I am because of you.”

“It’s been a long day… let’s take a bath together.”

“Wait, don’t pull away - I want to hug you for awhile longer.”

“Ah- I adore your laugh.”

“Stop that, it tickles!”

“Ouch, I bit my lip… kiss it better?”

“I don’t want to get up… I’m so warm beside you.”

“You’re so intoxicating to me.”

“Your eyes are amazing… do you know that?”

“You’re just so wonderful.”

“S-Stop looking at me like that! You’re making me blush…”

“Are you tired? Rest in your head in my lap.”

“You, Me, Order In, Netflix… waddya say?”

“I want to be more than just friends with you.”

“Fuck it - do you wanna get married?”

“Your smile is beyond gorgeous… please, keep doing it.”

“Whenever we’re together, I feel at home.”

“Will you say you love me? Pleeease?”

“Wait, don’t go! Can’t you stay the night?”

“Wow - you look… amazing.”

“*Puts hands over eyes from behind* Guess whooo?”

“I’m not jealous! It’s just… you’re mine!”

“I want to go on a date! I demand it!”

“We just met, this is crazy, I’m referencing a song… but call me maybe?”

“What? No! I wasn’t staring… I-I was looking at something behind you!”

“Do you want some? Here, open your mouth… I’ll feed you some!”

“It’s been a long day… here, let me give you a massage.”

“Is it alright if I call you princess?”

“It’s not like I like you or anything! … Okay, well- maybe I do.”

“I think your perfect. Even with your flaws, you’re nothing but perfect.”

“That was barely even a kiss! Do it again - please?”

“What? No. I wasn’t aiming for your hand. I was reaching for the, uh- popcorn.”

[isabelasfriendfiction]

cuddly / platonic-ish memes

“your feet are cold.”

“movies are made for watching, not for asking questions.”

“you’re hogging the blankets!”

“we should cuddle… for warmth.”

“is that your hand on my leg?”

“scoot over.”

“can we watch something else? this is scary.” 

“are you shivering?” 

“if you start snoring, i won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”

“did you eat all the popcorn?”

“your hair keeps getting in my face.”

“are you even wearing pants??”

“stop kicking me!”

“you’re a good pillow.”

“do i look like a foot-rest to you?”

“do i look like a pillow to you?”

“i’m cold.”

“why can’t you ever just lay still?”

[isabelasfriendfiction]

[ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ? ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ] ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ

sparks when skin brushes skin

secret smiles

checking to see what they think

seeing an object and thinking of them

hugs that last a beat too long

looking for them in a crowd

holding hands and that's all they can think of

rubbing comforting circles into their skin

laughing more around them

friends pointing [it] out

acting without thinking then checking to see how they reacted

lighting up when you see them

inside jokes

leaving notes

signing off a written correspondence with a kiss or "love"

accidentally referencing them as "my"

nicknames

comfort in their presence

personal gifts

growing really close really quickly

knowing what they'll say

feeling a flutter after something they've done dozens of times

they start analyzing everything to guess if it's romantic or not

face turning red when they get too close

face turning red when they think of them

smiling more easily

glowing after a nice remark and having it pointed out

overanalyzing what others say about them both

thinking maybe...

requested by anon

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Literally none of my story ideas come with a plot, ever. WITHOUT FAIL, it’s always just an Aesthetic, like two and a half characters, some very, very vivid settings, and a weird concept. Never plot. Not even an inkling of a plot. My brain tosses me this cool stuff and is like welp i’ll be back in 4-5 business months 

[isabelasfriendfiction]

idk if anyone will find this useful, but this is how i go about planning my stories. i mostly write fantasy, so that’s what this is most applicable to. but it could work with other genres too.

so there’s three major components to a story: the characters, the plot, and the world. creating them individually is the easy part, but they all connect and affect each other in different ways. (like you can’t have a character who loves peaches and eats them every day if they live a peasant in a region that doesn’t grow peaches, for example.)

so i created a cheat sheet to help connect all three components together.

1) the world creates the characters.

this is related to the peach example above. the characters should be a direct result of the environment they grew up in and the environment they currently live in.

2) the characters are limited by the world.

also related to the peaches. characters can’t do anything outside of what the rules of their surroundings and universe allow, such as eating peaches when they’re not available. this also applies for magic users. they can’t have unlimited magic, so keep in mind what you want out of both the characters and the world when creating magic systems.

3) the characters carry the plot.

we’ve all heard it before: “bad characters can’t carry a good plot. good characters can carry a bad plot.” but we all like a good plot anyway. try to make sure you’re not giving your characters too heavy or too light of a plot to carry.

4) the plot pushes the characters.

if nothing in the plot happens, your characters will remain static forever. if you struggle with plots, try starting with what character development you want to happen, then go from there.

5) the plot depends on the world.

you can’t overthrow the evil government if there isn’t one. think of what your world needs most and what your plot is centered around, and fit those two together.

6) the world is changed by the plot.

even if your plot is centered around something most of your world would call “insignificant”, the world will still experience some change from the plot. either the evil government will be gone, or maybe that one teacher is now way more careful about keeping an eye on the test key. either way, the world will be different from now on.

final note: usually people will be able to write one or two of the components with ease, but don’t know where to go from there. i personally can’t write plots, but thinking this way has really helped me actually make a story out of the world and characters because i looked at what i needed from what i had. i really hope this can help you too! happy writing!

tl;dr this is a cheat sheet to help anyone who struggles with writing one or two of what i consider the three major components to a story.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

@emcads ur welcome

[isabelasfriendfiction]

tips for choosing a Chinese name for your OC when you don’t know Chinese

This is a meta for gifset trade with @purple-fury! Maybe you would like to trade something with me? You can PM me if so!

Choosing a Chinese name, if you don’t know a Chinese language, is difficult, but here’s a secret for you: choosing a Chinese name, when you do know a Chinese language, is also difficult. So, my tip #1 is: Relax. Did you know that Actual Chinese People choose shitty names all the dang time? It’s true!!! Just as you, doubtless, have come across people in your daily life in your native language that you think “God, your parents must have been on SOME SHIT when they named you”, the same is true about Chinese people, now and throughout history. If you choose a shitty name, it’s not the end of the world! Your character’s parents now canonically suck at choosing a name. There, we fixed it!

However. Just because you should not drive yourself to the brink of the grave fretting over choosing a Chinese name for a character, neither does that mean you shouldn’t care at all. Especially, tip #2, Never just pick some syllables that vaguely sound Chinese and call it a day. That shit is awful and tbh it’s as inaccurate and racist as saying “ching chong” to mimic the Chinese language. Examples: Cho Chang from Harry Potter, Tenten from Naruto, and most notorious of all, Fu Manchu and his daughter Fah lo Suee (how the F/UCK did he come up with that one).

So where do you begin then? Well, first you need to pick your character’s surname. This is actually not too difficult, because Chinese actually doesn’t have that many surnames in common use. One hundred surnames cover over eighty percent of China’s population, and in local areas especially, certain surnames within that one hundred are absurdly common, like one out of every ten people you meet is surnamed Wang, for example. Also, if you’re making an OC for an established media franchise, you may already have the surname based on who you want your character related to. Finally, if you’re writing an ethnically Chinese character who was born and raised outside of China, you might only want their surname to be Chinese, and give them a given name from the language/culture of their native country; that’s very very common.

If you don’t have a surname in mind, check out the Wikipedia page for the list of common Chinese surnames, roughly the top one hundred. If you’re not going to pick one of the top one hundred surnames, you should have a good reason why. Now you need to choose a romanization system. You’ll note that the Wikipedia list contains variant spellings. If your character is a Chinese-American (or other non-Chinese country) whose ancestors emigrated before the 1950s (or whose ancestors did not come from mainland China), their name will not be spelled according to pinyin. It might be spelled according to Wade-Giles romanization, or according to the name’s pronunciation in other Chinese languages, or according to what the name sounds like in the language of the country they immigrated to. (The latter is where you get spellings like Lee, Young, Woo, and Law.)  A huge proportion of emigration especially came from southern China, where people spoke Cantonese, Min, Hakka, and other non-Mandarin languages.

So, for example, if you want to make a Chinese-Canadian character whose paternal source of their surname immigrated to Canada in the 20s, don’t give them the surname Xie, spelled that way, because #1 that spelling didn’t exist when their first generation ancestor left China and #2 their first generation ancestor was unlikely to have come from a part of China where Mandarin was spoken anyway (although still could have! that’s up to you). Instead, name them Tse, Tze, Sia, Chia, or Hsieh.

If you’re working with a character who lives in, or who left or is descended from people who left mainland China in the 1960s or later; or if you’re working with a historical or mythological setting, then you are going to want to use the pinyin romanization. The reason I say that you should use pinyin for historical or mythological settings is because pinyin is now the official or de facto romanization system for international standards in academia, the United Nations, etc. So if you’re writing a story with characters from ancient China, or medieval China, use pinyin, even though not only pinyin, but the Mandarin pronunciations themselves didn’t exist back then. Just… just accept this. This is one of those quirks of having a non-alphabetic language.

(Here’s an “exceptions” paragraph: there are various well known Chinese names that are typically, even now, transliterated in a non-standard way: Confucius, Mencius, the Yangtze River, Sun Yat-sen, etc. Go ahead and use these if you want. And if you really consciously want to make a Cantonese or Hakka or whatever setting, more power to you, but in that case you better be far beyond needing this tutorial and I don’t know why you’re here. Get. Scoot!)

One last point about names that use the ü with the umlaut over it. The umlaut ü is actually pretty critical for the meaning because wherever the ü appears, the consonant preceding it also can be used with u: lu/lü, nu/nü, etc. However, de facto, lots of individual people, media franchises, etc, simply drop the umlaut and write u instead when writing a name in English, such as “Lu Bu” in the Dynasty Warriors franchise in English (it should be written Lü Bu). And to be fair, since tones are also typically dropped in Latin script and are just as critical to the meaning and pronunciation of the original, dropping the umlaut probably doesn’t make much difference. This is kind of a choice you have to make for yourself. Maybe you even want to play with it! Maybe everybody thinks your character’s surname is pronounced “loo as in loo roll” but SURPRISE MOFO it’s actually lü! You could Do Something with that. Also, in contexts where people want to distinguish between u and ü when typing but don’t have easy access to a keyboard method of making the ü, the typical shorthand is the letter v. 

Alright! So you have your surname and you know how you want it spelled using the Latin alphabet. Great! What next?

Alright, so, now we get to the hard part: choosing the given name. No, don’t cry, I know baby I know. We can do this. I believe in you.

Here are some premises we’re going to be operating on, and I’m not entirely sure why I made this a numbered list:

Chinese people, generally, love their kids. (Obviously, like in every culture, there are some awful exceptions, and I’ll give one specific example of this later on.)

As part of loving their kids, they want to give them a Good name.

So what makes a name a Good name??? Well, in Chinese culture, the cultural values (which have changed over time) have tended to prioritize things like: education; clan and family; health and beauty; religious devotions of various religions (Buddhism, Taoism, folk religions, Christianity, other); philosophical beliefs (Buddhism, Confucianism, etc) (see also education); refinement and culture (see also education); moral rectitude; and of course many other things as the individual personally finds important. You’ll notice that education is a big one. If you can’t decide on where to start, something related to education, intelligence, wisdom, knowledge, etc, is a bet that can’t go wrong.

Unlike in English speaking cultures (and I’m going to limit myself to English because we’re writing English and good God look at how long this post is already), there is no canon of “names” in Chinese like there has traditionally been in English. No John, Mary, Susan, Jacob, Maxine, William, and other words that are names and only names and which, historically at least, almost everyone was named. Instead, in Chinese culture, you can basically choose any character you want. You can choose one character, or two characters. (More than two characters? No one can live at that speed. Seriously, do not give your character a given name with more than two characters. If you need this tutorial, you don’t know enough to try it.) Congratulations, it is now a name!!

But what this means is that Chinese names aggressively Mean Something in a way that most English names don’t. You know nature names like Rose and Pearl, and Puritan names like Wrestling, Makepeace, Prudence, Silence, Zeal, and Unity? I mean, yeah, you can technically look up that the name Mary comes from a etymological root meaning bitter, but Mary doesn’t mean bitter in the way that Silence means, well, silence. Chinese names are much much more like the latter, because even though there are some characters that are more common as names than as words, the meaning of the name is still far more upfront than English names.

So the meaning of the name is generally a much more direct expression of those Good Values mentioned before. But it gets more complicated!

Being too direct has, across many eras of Chinese history, been considered crude; the very opposite of the education you’re valuing in the first place. Therefore, rather than the Puritan slap you in the face approach where you just name your kid VIRTUE!, Chinese have typically favoured instead more indirect, related words about these virtues and values, or poetic allusions to same. What might seem like a very blunt, concrete name, such as Guan Yu’s “yu” (which means feather), is actually a poetic, referential name to all the things that feathers evoke: flight, freedom, intellectual broadmindness, protection…

So when you’re choosing a name, you start from the value you want to express, then see where looking up related words in a dictionary gets you until you find something that sounds “like a name”; you can also try researching Chinese art symbolism to get more concrete names. Then, here’s my favourite trick, try combining your fake name with several of the most common surnames: 王，李，陈. And Google that shit. If you find Actual Human Beings with that name: congratulations, at least if you did f/uck up, somebody else out there f/ucked up first and stuck a Human Being with it, so you’re still doing better than they are. High five!

You’re going to stick with the same romanization system (or lack thereof) as you’ve used for the surname. In the interests of time, I’m going to focus on pinyin only.

First let’s take a look at some real and actual Chinese names and talk about what they mean, why they might have been chosen, and also some fictional OC names that I’ve come up with that riff off of these actual Chinese names. And then we’ll go over some resources and also some pitfalls. Hopefully you can learn by example! Fun!!!

Let’s start with two great historical strategists: Zhuge Liang and Zhou Yu, and the names I picked for some (fictional) sons of theirs. Then I will be talking about Sun Shangxiang and Guan Yinping, two historical-legendary women of the same era, and what I named their fictional daughters. And finally I’ll be talking about historical Chinese pirate Gan Ning and what I named his fictional wife and fictional daughter. Uh, this could be considered spoilers for my novel Clouds and Rain and associated one-shots in that universe, so you probably want to go and read that work… and its prequels… and leave lots of comments and kudos first and then come back. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

(I’m just kidding you don’t need to know a thing about my work to find this useful.)

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