Apparently a lot of people get dialogue punctuation wrong despite having an otherwise solid grasp of grammar, possibly because they’re used to writing essays rather than prose. I don’t wanna be the asshole who complains about writing errors and then doesn’t offer to help, so here are the basics summarized as simply as I could manage on my phone (“dialogue tag” just refers to phrases like “he said,” “she whispered,” “they asked”):
“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.
“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.
“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.
“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”
“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”
“There’s no dialogue tag after this sentence, so end it with a period rather than a comma.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that the entire post was as unasked for as it was sanctimonious.
Here’s one that a lot of people miss, but that can be helpful for the reader:
“Of course you already know to use a paragraph break between speakers,” they said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Depending on style, you can either indent or line break, as long as you keep it consistent.”
“Exactly! But did you know that if your single speaker goes on and on and gets a little rambly, and you find yourself needing to put in a paragraph break but not switch speakers, you should do the exact same thing?
“Only, in this case, don’t close off the quotation marks until that speaker is completely done talking. See how after the question mark above there isn’t anything? Indent or line break for your next paragraph – however you’re indicating – and use a beginning quotation to mark the dialogue, but leave the initial paragraph open, so that the reader can tell it’s not a different person now speaking,” they finished.
Obviously, people can often get it from context even if you don’t do this, and grammar and punctuation is a thing that evolves and changes over time, but I do like this rule because it actually benefits the reader.
please DO pretend that's michael, because it's the perfect gif.
tw: cheating, quite canon/ooc michael idk lmao, kinda smutty right when it starts, nothing explicit just kinda horny shit. i also dont remember how many shots got michael, so bare with me, also slight mentions of michael's trauma with the unmentionable, mentions of blood, also MAJOR dad!michael so.......... warning lmao
also, words in bold are for shock lmaoo #extra
word count: 1645
summary: Michael cheats and he doesn't know if Y/N knows. But their new born somehow knows.
masterlist
wanna be tagged? fill the form, sugar cake<3
Michael smiled, his lips on her neck, his hands on her hips. Messed up bodies, lost in the heat of each other's skin. Her hands pulling him closer by the shirt that was hanging loosely on his body, even if "closer" wasn't possible. The shirt cuffs were rolled on his arms, cold air hitting on his skin.
"Mickey," she moaned softly when his kisses traveled down her neck to her chest "I need you, baby, please."
"You do?" he smiled, his hands traveled to the zip on the back of her dress, "Where, love?" he asked, looking forward to hearing her talk dirty to him in that soft Italian accent she had. Looking forward to hearing how his name would sound on her lips when he marked her as his. His property.
"Just say the word, love, say what-"
The loud, piercing, and dreadful cry of a baby, coming from the apartment over them, forced Michael to stop. He froze. It was as if he had come back to his body.
Only, that he went back on time four months. That was the same thunderous sound he heard a few minutes before Polly rushed to his side, with a baby in her arms. Y/N's baby. His baby. His daughter.
When he saw she had his eyes, Michael knew he would lose every personal desire, and everything would become her. Not that he was against it, he would willingly give up everything he had if she asked him.
That baby... Michael never thought he would only need the laughter that would part from her lips as he kissed her cheeks repeatedly. He never thought he wouldn't mind waking up every two or three hours to feed his kid. He never thought he wouldn't mind having the urgent need to fall asleep, yet he walked up and down every hall, just to make her fall asleep.
Because everything was for her. Everything was her.
"Michael, it's okay. It's just my neighbour and her baby..." she murmured indifferently, while her lips kept on kissing his chest.
Her lips avoided his small and healed bullet wounds, and he pulled away.
Y/N never avoided them.
"No," he whispered, and regret began to weigh him down "no, no. No, no, no- I have to go."
He was going to be sick.
He felt the same shortness of air he felt when two weeks before the date he had marked in every calendar, he got the call:
"Michael, she's coming today," she breathed deeply, after cutting his 'hey, Mrs. Gray'.
"Ada? But she just called Tommy, her ship-"
"Rosie, she- she's coming. Today."
He had never run so damn fast. The three same boring blocks seemed endless, painful.
I can't miss this, he thought, I can not miss this.
He walked those streets with the shame burning in his chest, now them being five instead of three. The hole in his stomach only grew bigger, how did Isaiah do it? How could he ignore his wife and his little boy every Saturday, just like he had done, without feeling the shame and regret?
"You never cheat on the mother of your child, Michael," Polly said, "you never cheat on them. Because not seeing your child might not seem like the end of the world right now, but it is. And it will ruin you."
With every step he took, a tear followed. He thought he knew what guilt was like. He had killed a man, all those years ago. Of course, since it was... him... the situation was completely different. During his long nights, he would still feel his blood dripping from his nose, the thick and warm consistency covering his hands.
He knew what everyone would say. Tommy would just look at him, and go on with his life. Arthur would say some nonsense and talk about how it would go out the window in three weeks. John... John was dead, but he would be really disappointed. Ada would chase him down Watery Lane and Polly... he didn't even want to begin that thought.
But Y/N? He didn't know. He never knew what she would say next, even when he asked her out- man was he afraid. Would she say no? Would she say yes?
But most importantly, would she find out?
She couldn't find out.
She just- she couldn't.
He... He could do something... right? There was, clearly, something he could do...
The thought left his mind as his eyes spotted his black door. 318 Watery Lane and Archer Drive. He took out the key from his pocket and stared at his key chain.
R.E.G.
Roseline Emily Gray.
"You'll love your room," he whispered, as he was holding Rosie in his arms, in his room, with Y/N by his side with her eyes barely open, "You'll love it. It's a nice shade of brown, you know? The wooden floor has a carpet over it, you'll be able to crawl as much as you like. And don't you worry about falling, my love, because it's the most plushy carpet you'll ever have. And it's all yours. I am all yours, forever and always."
How many more times would he have the chance to open that door, with his key, before the house of cards he was building fell upon him?
He got inside, knowing he would throw up any minute now. He took off his shoes, the one that took him there. He noticed his belt, still unfastened and loose. He turned around, faced the mirror, and saw a hole in his shirt, he was missing a button- It was one of the many Y/N had broken on purpose and fixed wholeheartedly.
His mind and running thoughts overthrew him, and he sat down on the floor. Legs crossed, hands on his eyes, pressing his skin with self-hatred.
"For fuck's sakes." he left out a cry, trying not to wake Rosie up.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
"Mike? That's your nickname?" Y/N laughed and Michael looked down, a little bit embarrassed.
"Yeah, kinda. Everyone just... everyone just calls me Michael."
Michael never really had any special friends in the village, so he had no unique nickname, no special story- he was just an adopted kid, with a simple name, without many hobbies.
"What about sunshine?" she asked, her fingers playing in his palm.
They were walking back to her house, after the fifth date.
"Sunshine?" he asked, confused on why she would call him that.
"Yeah, it's special."
The nickname had something special, that was for sure.
"It's too special for my taste." he joked.
"But it isn't too special for you, it fits."
That became her nickname, sunshine. Because every time she smiled or laughed, Michael felt his chest beginning to warm up, like the first rays of sunlight warmed their faces during the holidays, when they left the house early in the morning to have breakfast together in the garden, silently as the snow shone, reflecting the sun.
The only thing that stopped Michael from crying more, was the cry of his daughter upstairs. As quickly as he could, he stood up, wiped his tears while walking to Rosie's room and when she saw him, she extended her arms, with red soaked eyes and a tired expression.
"Oh, come here, baby. Daddy is here," he whispered while taking his daughter in his arms.
One of his many talents, according to Y/N, was calming Rose. As soon as the baby was being held by him, she would fall asleep. It was magical, almost as if the baby was hypnotized.
"I can't believe this! All of my work during months on end, hours of labor... and you choose your father! This is betrayal, young lady."
"Oh, sunshine, it's just a phase. She will listen to you more than she will with me. And I'm sure she will love you more than anything else."
But of course, tonight was different.
Rosie started screaming as they've never heard before.
"Michael," Y/N's sleepy voice echoed "is she okay?"
Piercing, loud and unbreakable. It was almost impossible to believe that Rosie, Small Heath's calmest baby, could perform in such a way.
He breathed deeply, and his shaky voice told her she was fine.
"I think she's just hungry," he said.
But there was no way, no walk, no bottle, no hug, no song that could calm Rosie. Did she... did she know?
"Michael, give her to me, maybe I can do something..."
Y/N's voice took him out of his panicked mind, with a sleepy expression, one she had passed down on to Rose.
"No, no, I can. You are tired, I don't mind staying awake," he tried to assure her they would be fine, that he wouldn't care about the effort.
"How will I sleep if my daughter is screaming?" she smiled.
She walked up to him, kissed his chin, and grabbed Rosie in her arms. And, of course, much to Michael's disgrace, she stopped right there and then.
"Ah, you just needed some mama time, didn't you, little miss Gray?"
Michael's heart shrunk.
"Let's go to bed, Rosie. You must be tired from the show you just made your father go through." Y/N laughed slightly and began to walk away.
How much time would he have that daily image? His wife, his daughter. Both of his girls on their winter pajamas.
"Sunshine," Y/N turned around and faced him "are you coming?"
Michael felt his world crumbling. It was being hammered. And he was the one to blame.
"I..." he began to talk as he teared up, his eyes glued on his family.
"Michael, are you okay?" Y/N walked up to him and her hand rested on his cheek in a split second.
"I need to tell you something."
And he knew he would have to forget about enjoying sunbeams with her.
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