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couldsewyouastitch · 2 days ago

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Stories We Haven’t Written Yet

a/n: hi @tea-reads i am your secret santa!! when i got your prompt i was so happy because i have been wanting to write something like this for a long time. and i usually need days, weeks to complete something like this but for some reason, these words just poured out of me. you said i can pick the character myself so i went with Frankie because, Frankie is just... Frankie *sighs affectionately*. anyway, hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!! a big thank you to @pedrostories for the amazing event <3 also, @tea-reads i hope you don't mind me giving the cat the most obnoxious cat name that there is. xx

pairing: frankie 'catfish' morales x fem!reader

c/w: reader is she/her, description of the reader (story is written with a specific person in mind), other than that some cursing, implication of intimacy, and the rest is pure fluff.

The faded red bricks of the old brownstone are cool as Frankie Morales steps outside, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between his hands. Taking a sip, he lets the warmth bleed into his fingers, into his chest, where sleep still weighs heavy. The bitter taste bites at his tongue, but he likes it—it feels real, more real than the hazy remnants of the dreams he’s trying to shake off.

Then, a flash of movement catches his eye. There, across the narrow street, framed in a first-floor window like a living portrait she sits—a girl with a tangle of dark hair hunched over a book. Her fingertip traces the page as she reads. Frankie thinks of the whorl of her fingerprint, oil and ink, the silent shape of words in her mouth.

He's seen her before. Hard not to in a neighborhood like this where everyone knows everyone and their grandma, but they've never spoken. Never had reason to. He doesn't even know her name but he likes to call her bookworm. Imagines her with papercuts on her fingertips and the smell of old pages clinging to her clothes.

She looks up just as he's lifting his mug to his lips. Catches him looking. He could turn away but he doesn't. He lifts a hand in a wave and he's close enough to see her lips twitch into an almost smile before she disappears behind a curtain the color of clouds.

—

The cat is an ink-stain sprawled across the pale tiles of Frankie's kitchen floor. He stares at it. It stares back wholly unimpressed by the world—or by him. A chill breeze from the open window ruffles its fur.

"Alright," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "I don't know how you got in here, gato, but you’ve got to go."

The cat remains unmoved.

Frankie sighs. Scrubs a hand through his hair. Remembers too late it's still tacky with pomade and now his fingers are too. "Look, it’s not that I don’t like you," he continues, his voice edging toward something that sounds suspiciously like resignation. "It’s just—well, I’m not exactly living the kind of life where I can keep a pet right now. You know how it is."

The cat, of course, does not know how it is. Nor does it care. It blinks lazily, as if to say, Who asked you?

Frankie glances at the open window above the sink, then at the clock on the wall. He’s going to be late for his shift at the garage if he doesn’t leave soon. “Fine,” he mutters, shrugging into his jacket. “Have it your way. Mi casa es su casa and all that. But when I get back, we’re having a serious talk about boundaries.”

The cat yawns, a pink tongue curling delicately, as if it already knows how the conversation will go.

Frankie snatches his keys from the hook by the door. “I mean it,” he grumbles, more to himself than the cat. “This ain’t a hotel.”

The door shuts behind him, and somewhere in the quiet of the kitchen, the cat blinks once, slowly, as though conceding that perhaps it is.

—

Boundaries. What a joke. He'd forgotten that talk as soon as he'd clocked in. Then it was nothing but oil changes and timing belts and that persistent rattle in Mrs. Goldberg's Buick that refuses to be located. By the time he drags himself up the two flights to his apartment, the cat is the furthest thing from his mind.

Until he trips over it in the dark, nearly braining himself on the coffee table.

"Shit!" He fumbles for the light switch. Blinks in the sudden flood of brightness. The cat is sitting by the door, tail lashing. "Oh, it's you. Thought we had an understanding."

The cat meows. Loudly. Like an air-raid siren.

"What? What do you want?"

Another yowl, claws scrabbling at the wood. And okay, Frankie may not be Dr. Dolittle but even he can translate that.

He groans. Pinches the bridge of his nose where a headache is brewing. "Alright, alright, I'm going."

—

Never let it be said that Frankie Morales isn't a man of his word. He's going.

He's just not sure where.

Standing on the cracked sidewalk, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other clutching a very disgruntled cat, he scans the darkened windows of the brownstone across the way. No sign of bookworm.

The cat squirms and he tightens his grip. "Cool it, Houdini. I don't see your owner around."

A throat clears behind him. He spins, the cat held out like a furry shield.

And there she is, close enough to touch. Dark eyes wide in a delicate face, perfect lips parted on a startled breath.

"Um, can I help you?"

Christ, even her voice is perfect. Soft and low with a husky little catch. Frankie's tongue feels too big for his mouth. He thrusts the cat at her. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Bukowski!" She takes the cat from his unresisting hands, cuddling it to her chest. Rubs her cheek against its head and it purrs, traitor. "Where have you been?"

"My kitchen, apparently."

She peeks up at him through a curtain of silky hair, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. A hot curl of want licks through him. "I'm so sorry. He's never done that before."

Frankie shrugs. "It's no problem." It is, a little, but he's not about to say that. Not when she's looking at him like she's braced for a lecture. He sticks out his hand. "I'm Frankie, by the way. I live...right there." He points at his window like an idiot.

Her lips curve and this time it's a real smile and fuck, he's a goner. Her hand is small and cool against his roughened palm. Her fingers feel like bird bones. Delicate. Breakable.

He gentles his grip, struck by the sudden urge to bring those slender fingers to his lips. Press a kiss to her knuckles like some old-fashioned gentleman. He doesn’t. Instead, he drops her hand, stuffs his own back in his pocket where it can't do anything stupid. "Nice to officially meet you."

She ducks her head, hair sliding forward to hide that pretty flush climbing her cheeks. "You too. And thanks for bringing Bukowski home. I should..." She gestures over her shoulder, already backing away.

"Anytime."

He means it.

—

After that, of course he sees her everywhere.

Or maybe he’s just looking for her now.

Either way, it starts at the library.

He’d ducked inside to escape a sudden downpour, the sharp scent of wet pavement still clinging to his jacket, and there she was—bookworm.

Her hair was pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, a pencil tucked behind one ear, her hands deftly sorting books into neat stacks. She hadn’t noticed him at first, too busy rearranging the circulation desk into some private order only she understood. But then she glanced up, and their eyes met, and Frankie forgot for a moment how to breathe.

She’d smiled—a small, polite curve of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He’d managed to nod, maybe mumble something resembling “hey,” before retreating to the nearest aisle like a complete idiot.

—

Later, he’ll think maybe he conjured the whole thing. Like he wanted it so bad, so deep-down-in-his-bones bad, that the universe finally caved and handed it to him. A gift wrapped in irritation and crossed arms.

He’s just gotten home from a late shift, his body heavy with exhaustion, when a knock sounds at the door. His heart does a stupid little flip, a hopeful leap he’ll deny later. It’s gotta be her. Girl Scouts don’t hustle cookies this late, and Santi’s under strict orders not to bother him unless someone’s bleeding out or already dead.

When he opens the door, there she is, a stormcloud expression in place, arms folded tight across her chest. Her mouth is a taut line of annoyance, but even like this—especially like this—she’s too damn pretty.

"Hey." He leans casually against the doorframe, or at least he tries. His pulse is a drumbeat in his ears, frantic and unsteady. "What’s up?"

Her eyes flash, all dark fire and frustration. "Bukowski got out again." The words are clipped, each one edged with irritation.

"Shit, really?" He glances at his window out of instinct. Still shut tight. He scratches the back of his neck. "I haven’t seen him."

She exhales sharply, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Well, he’s not in my apartment, and your place is the only one he’s ever snuck into before, so."

Frankie drags a hand over his face, more to hide the grin tugging at his lips than out of frustration. "Alright. Gimme a second." He grabs his jacket from the coat rack, shrugging into it as he pulls the door shut behind him. "Did you check the alley? Sometimes I see him poking around the dumpsters back there."

Her nose wrinkles, a delicate crinkle of disdain that’s somehow unfairly adorable. "Gross."

A laugh startles out of him. "Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it. Dumpsters are like catnip to alley cats."

"Bukowski," she says with a frankly alarming amount of dignity, "is not an alley cat."

He holds up his hands, fighting a smile. "My mistake. Lead the way, princess."

—

They find the wayward feline sunning himself on the hood of Frankie's shitty third-hand Corolla, fur black against the rusting blue paint. Frankie eyes the fresh scratches on the driver's side door with resignation. Makes a mental note to start parking on the next block.

She marches up to the car, hands on her hips. "Bukowski Theodore Hemingway, you are in so much trouble."

It's official. She's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

He watches as she scoops up the unrepentant cat, fingers sinking into thick fur. Remembers the cool slide of her palm against his. The delicate veins in her wrist.

"Looks like he's got a taste for adventure," he jokes, sticking his hands in the pockets of his sherpa jacket to stop himself from reaching for her. "Regular little escape artist."

She frowns, shifting the cat to get a better grip. "I just don't understand why he keeps coming here. It's not like you're feeding him or anything."

Frankie shakes his head. "Just my rampant animal magnetism."

That startles a laugh out of her, bright and unconscious. He thinks he could get drunk on that sound, learn to crave it like a drug.

She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, something almost shy in the tilt of her mouth. "Must be."

And God, he wants to kiss her. Wants to pull her closer, hook his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans and erase the tiny space between them. Wants to let his hands map the curve of her waist, thread into the dark silk of her hair until she’s sighing against his mouth. Wants to find out if her lips taste as soft as they look, if the heat of her blush runs all the way down to the hollow of her throat—

She clears her throat, studying the top of Bukowski's head with sudden fascination. "Well. Thanks for helping me look. And sorry again for the trouble."

"Anytime."

He keeps his hands to himself.

Barely.

—

Things go back to normal after that.

Or at least, his version of normal, which mostly involves work and sleep and precious little else. He goes out drinking with Santi and Benny a couple times, flirts with any woman who looks his way out of habit more than actual interest. But his mind's never really in it. He always finds himself watching the door like he's waiting for something.

Someone.

He tries telling himself it's pathetic, pining over a girl he's barely spoken to. That he's building her up in his head, spinning some kind of bullshit fairy tale out of a few chance encounters.

But then he'll catch a glimpse of her through her living room window, hair spilling across the pages of an open book, lips moving soundlessly as she reads. Or he'll hear her laugh drifting through the open window as he drinks his coffee and a rare smoke on the fire escape, soft and secret in the velvet dark. And he thinks maybe it's not so pathetic to want something real for once.

—

When Bukowski shows up again, he's ready.

He leaves his window cracked just wide enough for a determined cat to squeeze through. Starts storing spare cans of tuna on the top shelf of the pantry. Feigns surprise every time the furry little monster appears like a grouchy apparition on his kitchen counter.

These days, his girl barely makes it through a cursory lecture before she's sighing and rolling her eyes, resigned to her pet's delinquent ways.

And if their hands sometimes brush as he passes the cat over, lingering a beat too long to be strictly accidental...well. That's just a bonus.

—

"Thanks for this," she says for what must be the dozenth time, sweet mouth curving ruefully as she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I promise I'm not sending him over on purpose. He's just..."

"Got a mind of his own," Frankie finishes, tearing his gaze away from the tan curve of her throat. "I get it. You can't control who you love."

Something flickers across her face too quick to catch and her smile slips, a brief dimming that makes his chest ache. But it's back before he can blink, smooth and distant as rippled glass.

"Still. I'll try to keep a closer eye on him from now on." She hitches the cat higher on her hip, slender fingers sinking into dark fur. "See you around, Frankie."

—

After that, he leaves the window shut tight. Pretends he can't hear the plaintive yowling from the alley below. Bullies Benny into taking the extra cans of tuna cluttering up his shelves.

It was stupid to think this thing between them could be anything more than a few scattered moments. A collection of almost strung together with foolish hope.

Girls like her don't end up with guys like him. He's got no business wanting what he can't have. No business dragging her into his mess of a life.

So, he stays away from the window. Throws himself into work, picking up extra shifts until he's too tired to think straight. Ignores the sharp bite of loss in his chest whenever he catches a flash of dark hair from the corner of his eye.

It's better this way.

—

He almost makes it a week before she corners him on the front stoop, arms crossed and eyes snapping.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He stares at her, momentarily speechless. She's a vision in the golden wash of the porch light, cheeks flushed and hair tumbling wild around her face.

She's never looked more beautiful. Or more pissed.

"What?" He finally manages, feeling wrong-footed and awkward in a way he hasn't since he was a pimply fourteen playing spin the bottle in Rosie Alvarez's basement.

Her mouth firms. "You're avoiding me."

It's not a question but he shakes his head anyway, instinct urging him to deny. "No, I'm not."

"Bullshit." She steps closer, close enough that he can smell her. "I thought we were..." She pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know. Connecting, maybe." Her shoulders hitch, just a little, and his heart squeezes painfully behind his ribs. "But now you won't even look at me."

Frankie doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been good with words, not the kind that matter, not the kind that don’t come out clumsy and wrong.

When he says nothing, she crosses her arms tighter, like she’s holding herself together.

"I don’t even know why I’m here," she says, pacing now a little, her arms crossing and uncrossing like she doesn’t know what to do with them. "I’ve been talking myself out of this for days. Weeks, maybe. Telling myself I’m being ridiculous, that I shouldn’t care, that I don’t need this."

"I'm not good at this, Frankie. At flirting or...or making my intentions known. I've always been alone and I thought I was okay with that. Content, even. But then you showed up with your stupid handsome face and your awful secret cigarettes on the fire escape and suddenly I'm lying awake at night wondering what it would be like to have someone. And I thought maybe you..." She trails off, scrubbing furiously at her eyes. "God, I'm so stupid. Of course you don't—"

Her name comes out low and rough, like it’s been scraped from the deepest part of him, and it cuts her off mid-sentence. Her gaze snaps up to his, her eyes wide, shining with a mix of anger and embarrassment and something heartbreakingly soft.

"You talk too much," he murmurs, his lips twitching into the faintest, most lopsided smile.

And before she can respond—before she can talk herself in circles or tear herself down anymore—he cups her face in his hands and kisses her.

It’s not a perfect kiss. He’s too rough, too desperate, his calloused thumbs brushing against the softness of her cheeks as his mouth finds hers. But the way she melts into him, the way her hands grip the front of his jacket like she’s afraid he’ll vanish if she lets go, makes him think that maybe perfection doesn’t matter.

Her lips are soft, warm, and she tastes faintly of peppermint tea, like she’s been drinking it to calm herself down. But he doesn’t think either of them are calm now. He’s trembling, just a little, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and she makes a soft, startled sound in the back of her throat that just about undoes him.

When they finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed, her lips pink and kiss-swollen, and she’s staring up at him like she doesn’t quite believe what just happened.

"Sweetheart. You have no idea how much I want you."

She blinks up at him, dark lashes spiky with tears. "You...you do?"

He has to laugh at the genuine confusion in her voice. Has to kiss her again, soft and slow and so sweet he aches with it. "I really, really do."

—

When Frankie wakes up the next morning he finds her watching him. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face, cheeks still flushed with the fading imprint of his kisses.

She reaches out, traces the curve of his jaw with a fingertip. "Hi."

His throat feels tight, crammed full of words he doesn't know how to shape. He turns his head. Presses a kiss to her palm. "Morning."

She smiles, slow and sweet as honey. "For a minute there, I thought I imagined you."

"Oh yeah?" He tugs her closer. Fits his body to the warm curves of hers. "Hate to disappoint, but I'm very real."

A laugh shivers through her. He feels it everywhere they're touching. Everywhere they're not. "I can see that."

He kisses her then. Can't not. Feels like he'll die if he doesn't get his mouth on her. She arches into him. Makes a noise that shoots straight to his groin.

He rolls her beneath him. Smoothes his hands down her sides. Over the dip of her waist. The flare of her hips. She gasps. Clutches at his shoulders. Nails biting into his skin.

A sudden clatter breaks the hush.

Frankie's head snaps up. There, silhouetted in the window. A familiar furry face.

Bukowski blinks. Yowls.

Frankie barks a laugh.

"Guess he was playing matchmaker all along, huh?" he teases, his voice a low rumble.

She huffs a laugh, her smile widening, her eyes bright with mischief. "Guess so."

Another yowl interrupts them, louder this time, and Frankie glances back at the window. The cat sits there, tail twitching impatiently, clearly unimpressed by their lack of urgency.

Frankie sighs dramatically, his face twisting into mock exasperation. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint."

He disentangles himself reluctantly. Pads naked to the window. Opens it just wide enough for Bukowski to slink through. The cat immediately winds around his ankles. Purring.

"Yeah, yeah. You're a regular Cupid." He scoops the furry devil up. Dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. "Now scram. We're busy."

She laughs. Reaches for him. "Come back to bed, Frankie."

He goes. Willingly. Eagerly.

Somewhere in the tangle of the sheets Bukowski meows.

Once. Twice.

Neither of them hear it.

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #pedrostoriesgift24 #pedrostories #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader

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littleholmes · 2 days ago

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I’m caught up on the dandadan anime and I’m about to start reading the manga, and there’s a lot I love about this series but one of the biggest things is how these teens have to live the aftermath of these situations and we get to see it—and the next event happens like 10hrs later. So many series have these teens experience these significant wild events and then we see a little bit of the aftermath and next incident is a bit away and they go to school like normal or there’s a mini time skip or it’s back to back if we’re in the final arcs.

Not dandadan and I lowkey love it because it’s so real.

Things are awkward the next day because they just fought something last night and the next day and what do they say to each other and how do they find each other in the middle of the school day? Oh and then something else happens!

They just brought someone back to life and she’s still thinking they’re demons and they gotta deal with that dynamic in school and rumors. And Okarun still needs to get fit and learn how to fight because these encounters keep happening and he’s not ready. Oh and Ayase and Okarun’s control over their abilities keeps morphing as they get stronger through the fights forcing them to adapt.

They just fought a bunch of aliens in the middle of the school day and their clothes are gone and their classmates disappeared but then reappeared when the fight ended and they’re naked in the hall in the middle of the day surrounded by their peers and gotta figure out how to get clothes and deal with adults.

Speaking of, they need new clothes now because that’s the third time in like less than two weeks that their clothes were destroyed by all the supernatural shenanigans going on. Then something else happens!

It’s constant—they’re dealing with all of this constantly coming at them at like 4pm but then at like 10am the next day here comes something else—but they’re in school, having to go through their regular day and the awkwardness and aftermath of all these events and what that does to their regular lives just like other series, but we get to see it and the every day impact and idk I’m rambling but I love it

#dandadan #momo ayase #ken takakura #okarun #dandadan thoughts

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saintsandsorcery · 3 days ago

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“We’re a long way from Waterdeep”

Gale didn’t regret proposing to Tav in the least – he loved them, wanted to spend the rest if his life by their side, couldn’t be happier. He simply regretted not leaving them a little more time as a couple.

Walking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, hands intertwined, only waiting for some enemy or another to jump at them hardly counted as proper courting. Even that one time they had pretended to be a married couple, Tavs smile when they called him Husband – possibly the moment he had first thought of proposing to them - was the closest they had come to being “normal”.

It came with a certain vulnerability to present themselves as people who felt deeply for each other, it meant handing the Absolute another tool against them. It should have been obvious, logical even, that finding love in times like these was a crucial mistake and that it didn’t allow normalcy at all.

But there hadn’t been any time to take things slow and they had fallen head over heel. Sure, their companions teased then without mercy and the closest thing to a date were the times they snuck away from camp to get some alone time.

Still, what they had reminded him of the novels he’d loved as a boy, the kind he hid beneath his pillow and read once he was sure his mother wouldn’t come check on him. Stories of heroes and villains, of love and loss. He hopes it wouldn’t come to the loss part if it all. Time had seemed infinite amidst the pages, no one ever spoke of the aftermath of their adventure; Of making your way through life with someone you hadn’t even known before. With the nightmares and all the terrible memories. With the knowledge that the world wasn’t solely bright and beautiful. It could break you or you could face it together.

And so they became each others lights in the dark. Safety when nothing seemed sure anymore. It wasn’t easy, it never was – but then again, when had they ever chosen the easy path?

Now though Gale had promised himself to do it right, even if it was a little different than he had always imagined. Before an evening dinner he had invited his love to, Gale waited for Tav in front of their bedroom door, flowers in hand, while they got ready. Tav had laughed as he suggested it, going on a real first date after everything they had faced together.It felt so mundane, but they happily agreed to it.

Strangely enough he was still nervous, still had to remind himself that they’d be married soon, that they lived together, that he got to wake beside them each morning. Love doesn’t last, how often he had heard it now. But even if it wasn’t for certain yet, greeting his beloved Tav by the door. he had a feeling his love for them would never fade.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #bg3 tav #fluff #baldurs gate gale #galemance

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heylittleriotact · 13 hours ago

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The only reason Emmrich isn’t a puddle of grief on the Lighthouse floor the way he should be in his non-lich resolution is because he cheated death - this time. He has a legacy in Manfred and makes peace with the fact that with training, Manfred will be able to care for himself when he eventually dies, but he only got here in the first place by fucking around with the natural order.

The playing field is still even in this outcome between he and Rook: they’re both mortal, and they will both inevitably die, but they may choose a life together that could be prosperous and joyful and all the other sentimental shit Emmrich has yearned for.

If he “accepts” Manfred’s death and becomes a lich, he does actually mourn him. There’s the banter where Davrin remarks that he heard crying coming from Emmrich’s room, which implies that he’s privately confronting those feelings of loss. Some people read this as regret, but I honestly think it’s grief presenting itself in a complicated manner for Emmrich.

Emmrich’s grief in this case is complicated because not only is he dealing with the emotional complexity of grieving a child who isn’t *technically* his child, but we’re adding survivor’s guilt on top of that, and the fact that Manfred’s sacrifice was ultimately his ticket to immortality.

That’s a-fucking-lot to unpack.

Is it any surprise that he’s weeping alone in his room when he thinks no one is around? How could ANYONE understand? WHY would anyone understand? So he hides it away and doesn’t even talk about it to Rook, his partner, and man… that is a slippery ass slope to some wildly unhealthy coping behaviours.

In real life you might see someone stuck in complicated grief become depressed, socially withdrawn, emotionally erratic, fall into substance abuse, self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, or suicide. Complicated grief is a bitch. Because remember - grief is vital: it is personal, but it is also communal, and Emmrich starts out his journey into lichdom by slipping into complex, isolated grief over Manfred’s passing.

So now instead of a regular person, you’ve got an immortal super-mage who can never die dealing with death TERRIBLY. This forms the foundation for his approach to death for eternity. Of COURSE he’s going to be insufferable to Rook. Of COURSE he’s going to take a holier-than-thou “be more careful please” stance without any thought to the staggering power imbalance that exists between them now.

It’s the most tragic, self-destructive ending for Emmrich, framed in a way that’s almost poetically cruel. He’s fucked himself, and he can’t un-fuck himself, and he has to live with that forever. He might be in denial about it for a month, a year… a century - but he’ll get there eventually.

You finally found the love of your life that you yearned for desperately for decades? You will smother them. Burden them. Shackle them unwittingly with your own shitty, shitty insecurity because even though you’re immortal you refuse to accept the natural order.

Regardless of which outcome you go with, Emmrich is in dire need of therapy. Luckily, as a human and not an immortal undead lich, he can do a lot less damage to himself and those he claims to love. But he really does need to work through his issues around his fear of death, his denial of mortality, and his insecurities in relationships, and I think if he stays mortal it’s more likely that in time once the world is saved and he and Rook settle down, he would be open to addressing those things - or hell he might even identify and work on them himself because he’s got the support of his partner - his EQUAL - who will stand by him and help him navigate things however they can.

Lich Emmrich though? He doesn’t feel like he *needs* to. Rook is no longer an equal, they are someone to be cherished and protected like an exceedingly old and rare edition of a book. They lose their personhood in EmmLich’s eyes and eventually become a possession, which should disgust him and he’d deny it vehemently but it’s true.

This is very rambling and badly worded and I’m just spewing random disjointed thoughts without any real point, @aldisobey I really loved this and how insidiously sweet it was. It’s just perfect. Thank you for writing it 🤍

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmlich #emmlich x rook #datv spoilers #dragon age spoilers

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carsickcrow · 1 month ago

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death at the movies by car seat headrest is one of the songs ever to me.

#every time i listen to it i’m like. this is it. this is The Song.#but i think i just like movies.#“it’s hard to adjust your eyes after the matinee. from the womb of the theater to the light of day”#hell yeah it is #“the spirits did it all in an hour and a half. bring me to pain. bring me to relief. turn off my brain. suspend my disbelief”#“there’s a wonderful line I can’t remember. i can’t rewind so i better remember”#“i must be saved. i must be saved before the end”#“the hero stands up and the blood rushes out of his head. but you can still see him breathing after he’s dead. and after the soul is gone #his body’s back to himself. and you’ll say ‘oh who is he? i’ve seen him in something else’”#“and so I pray to the movie screen that i’ll be shown something i’ve never seen. a revelation i can sense it but this part don’t make any #sense yet. if heaven is a film that never ends. and the characters are all my friends. or is that what we call a tv show?#or is that the real life that we’re living now?”#“could’ve been better. had such potential. could've been better. had such potential.”#i was planning on quoting just a few of my favorite lyrics but this is most of the song. so #remy rambles #car seat headrest

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autistic-katara · 1 month ago

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icl i would be at least a little happy with almost any ending for stranger things but one thing that would ruin all of it would be an epilogue (of a decade or more later)

#it would just kinda ruin the fun of imagining them doing whatever tf i want them to these days yk #like even if everyone got together the way i wanted them and got the jobs i think fit etc it would still just kill the creativity #+ even the small things would annoy me like what if i just don’t like what one of them named their kids. or dresses like in 20 years #maybe i wanted them divorced by then but that would’ve angered the fans #maybe i wanted to imagine that single person’s future spouse myself (or keep them single in my head)#what if i want them to recover from this or that or still be working on it. what if i the adult/older actors look shit #anyways point is do not do an epilogue timeskip of more than 5/6years PLEASE i am begging u duffer brothers #stranger things #byler #<- u guys get me on this yk #even if byler isn’t canon at the end i can still at least imagine they do in uni or in their 30s or whenever #as long as there isn’t some fucking scene where mike and el r old and married in 2023 or something #would just kinda ruin all of it; making us see them as old ass adults with their entire lives set it stone yk #manifesting a few month/year timeskip where everyone gets a happy ending isn’t all “and then they lived a nice life in this specific way”#and especially manifesting that we don’t get an #“i haven’t seen you guys in decades how’ve you been? sucks that erica died in a car crash last year. she was almost 40”#type epilogue (if we must have one)#like no hate to amphibia and that one 80s movie but it just kinda makes what happened before a bit pointless if it focused on their #relationships at all #like cool we spent years watching these friendships grow and adapt only for u to go “yeah and we’re strangers now soz :)” like ok so none o #that lasted #idgaf if it’s “realistic” if i wanted realistic representation of childhood friends into adulthood id think about real life and shit #idk random rant if they do any of this shit i WILL kill all of them and then myself #ryan shut the fuck up

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compacflt · 2 years ago

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wip wednesday: ???

#the bottom two are for the anon last night who asked if i had more domestic fluff.#anon i have about 50k of domestic fluff ive just been sitting on for the last 6 months.#i have a boat load of real life work recently im so so sorry again these are taking so long 😭😭😭#i want to post slider next Saturday/the wed after that if sat doesn’t work #i have about 10-15 extremely difficult paragraphs left to write #1. this is really the crux of the issue right here.#2. ice having post-marriage doubts???? he signed the papers but what now?#3. what now: oh nothings changed. we’re still the same people we’ve always been.#top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #top gun fanfiction #i just found out i got my dream summer job covering the aerospace & defense beat in DC this summer #did i put this fanfic on my resume? NO but maybe i should’ve tbh #i will literally be writing about airplanes for a living. the Dream.#the ??? is just bc i don’t have a witty caption queued up #and no he does not pass out

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cynicalmusings · 3 months ago

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do you ever think about how we’ll all be in the past one day?

#r’s random thoughts #we have such rich and detailed experiences of life as we live it #but in a century or so… the days we lived and breathed in and are so certain is the present will be considered the ‘past’#and when you think of what’s history to us now #it’s not just ‘events that happened’#it’s ‘events which unfolded as people live(d) their lives as a result of their day-to-day actions’#just like what we’re doing now unthinkingly #every historical figure was so much more than what we may learn about them #it’s easy to see figures of the past as characters and forget that they were real people just like us #don’t even begin with how many countless people have been completely forgotten about by history books #which is what will happen to most of us #because what they did in their life wasn’t considered of enough significance to get them recorded #and yet day-to-day things feel so big for us #and one day they won’t be #sorry for the ramble #just having some good old existential thoughts

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damndude69 · 4 months ago

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#I do this thing where I keep comparing myself and my life to other people my age who live like ‘normal lives’ where they live with just #their partner and work decent-ish paying jobs #and don’t live near family/have large family obligations #like I make slightly more than minimum wage #my health stuff had been getting worse #my fiancé is disabled/chronically ill and working her ass off so she doesn’t have excess energy #which leaves a lot of house work on me #which is fine and I don’t mind #and our household is me my fiancé my 23 yo sister and we’ve all lived together for like 3 years now and my sister makes a lot more money &#helps with house stuff #/maintenance #but my younger sister and her 9 month old moved in at the beginning of summer because her baby daddy is a scum bag #and she’s 20 and really mentally unwell #so a lot of baby care falls on me & my fiancé #along with trying to help my sister with her mental health #which is like not normal levels of unwell it’s like serious shit and she’s completely unmedicated and going through a real hard time and not #adjusting to motherhood well cause she was 19 and shouldn’t have had a baby #and like she knows that but what’s done is done #she can’t move back in with my parents because her relationship with them is too fucked #and like there’s also complicated stuff safety and bad ppl in her life so that’s a stress inducing factor #she’s unemployed and I’m not sure will ever be able to work and can’t drive #not her fault just the reality we live in #also we’re the ppl who live closest to my grandmother who’s health has been rapidly declining so a lot of that has fallen on my other sister #and me to manage #I also have to pet sit a lot because I need the money #and when I come home I have to spend all my time getting the house back in order #also I’m about to be losing a days worth of pay starting September cause the kids I nanny are doing two half days a week of prek #which means less money & with these grocery bills and two more mouths to feed is gonna fuck me in the ass #so like yeah I don’t have the time or energy for hobbies I spend all my damn free time trying to keep the house clean or taking care of #The baby & like it’s just the way it is but it’s not comprable to how all the ppl I knew in highschool r living rn

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tittyblade · 2 years ago

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Oh ya I’ve heard Türkiye is having some elections today, how’s that going? :D

it’s on sunday!!! ive spent the entirety of this morning crying over election coverage LOL. this is the single most important event of my life. yk how every politician says the next election is the most important one so everyone should go out n vote? thats the situation here but quite literally.

on one hand you have islamic extremists (erdoğan. one of the “parties” that support him is literally formed from an extremist cult. the only reason they haven’t all been put on trial is bc erdoğan supports them and he’s only got the extremists’ support left. and also bc years back he declared a nationwide state of emergency and quickly passed multiple laws in succession where. he’s no longer the prime minister but “the sole leader” of turkey. yeah)

and on the opposition there’s a coalition of 6 parties, literally all the major left parties with some nationalists, with their joint candidate kılıçdaroğlu. CHP (the main opposition party) has been center left lately, but its the actual fuckin party that first turned turkey into a republic from a sultanate. its huge. compared to US politics the average left wing party is actually pretty fuckin left here LOL. and they havent won the govt since 1950s (last peaceful n prospering decades of turkey) AND. THEY ACTUALLY STAND A CHANCE. all the polls point towards kılıçdaroğlu winning the elections

and you have no idea how bad it’s been here for the last few years. god. there’s so many shit thats wrong in the country because of the current government. civillians getting arrested for tweets criticizing erdogan, not being able to afford anything, being unable to pay your rent, erdogan (WITH HIS SINGULAR DECISION) withdrawing from the istanbul convention, the femicides being the highest it has ever been since the entire history of the turkey, murdered religious minorities and murdered journalists, tens of thousands of people left alone to die after the earthquakes back in february. its pretty fucking scary living here unless you’re a cishet sunni muslim man.

everyone i know that can afford it has been fleeing the country. sometimes it feels like thats the only option you have unless you want to get killed as a 20 something year old trying to make ends meet. i’m only 20 yo myself and the past 8 years has brought me and everyone under 30 to such a place where the only thing we feel about the future is hopelessness. i feel like ive aged 10 years in the last year alone and i bet anyone thats lived under a similar govt can relate. my countrys politics alone has been robbing me of my youth and my will to live.

AND. DESPITE ALL OF THAT. i have hope for the very first time. i have hope for a better future now bc of the opposition candidate and i have faith in him to deliver his promises. everything thats happened since january he’s been dealing with with grace, and him + mayors from his party actually do shit.

so yeah. the entire course of turkey is gonna change this sunday. if we were to lose this would be the last democratic elections held (the last elections held, period) before erdoğan fully converted the country into an autocracy, and when kılıçdaroğlu wins its gonna become a socialist state, as socialist as it’s ever been since the 1950s. pretty fuckin big stakes

#sorry this got long this sunday is genuinely gonna be the single most important event in my life #this entire week passed in a haze this is the only thing that matters to me right now #also. sorry this got real serious. im just so tired of living under erdogans rule #cant help myself but speak about it when asked #this was just one of those questions that i could NOT do a short answer. even if i wanted to #on a lighter note. the majority of the people arent right wing theyre just plain stupid. LOL #for example in the last elections the turkish communist party won the mayoral elections of a city #and everyone is pretty happy with what they’ve been doing #we’re all pretty confident that kılıçdaroğlu is gonna win the majority of the votes #erdoğan is also known by his. fucking voter fraud #this time around though. everyone in the opoosition came together n put preventions in place #in elections here we have ‘voting booth observers’#or whatever thats a bad translation. doesnt matter #theyre stationed at every ballot station(???). wherever you put your paper ballots in a box #im a volunteer myself too. gonna be working from 6 am-10pm the day of the elections #can not fucking stand having this piece of shit in office due to fraud for a day longer. not a vote will be misread and miscalculated

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s-soulwriter · 2 months ago

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Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

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