#cockney accent right there

[thesearchforbluejello]

Okay first of all it apparently rolled out months ago and even though my app is set for automatic downloads, I just got it, but THE DUOLINGO OWL MAKES A SOUND NOW?!?!?!

The sound immediately made me think of the Moopsy, which is SO on brand.

But this better not be a Geico gecko situation because as a millennial I am old enough to remember the gecko commercials from before he talked in all of them, and how much LESS ANNOYING they were. I am begging for Duo to never actually talk.

[morninkim]

Rise of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Rito Revolto & Mordant

A mercenary for hire and his accountant who handles his space finances, meet Rito Revolto and Mordant!

Rito was hired by Count Dregon almost a year ago as an extra warrior. His ruthless fighting style, nonchalant attitude and willingness to do almost anything if it means he gets paid proved useful to the Count's cause. However, Rito defects from Dregon when it looks like the warlord will be defeated by the combined forces of the Power Rangers and the Masked Rider, meaning he wouldn't get paid anymore.

Mordant joined up with Rito a few years ago, seeing him as a steady contract that makes him money so he can maintain his cybernetics. He now makes more than enough, but sticks around because he knows Rito would make terrible financial decisions without him.

Shortly following the departure of Dex from Earth, the two are approached by Goldar as a representative of Lord Zedd and offered a deal. Destroy the Power Rangers and Zedd will give him the Power Coins as a reward. Though the Dark Specter would never, in fact, actually give up the Power Coins to a random mercenary, Rito accepts the bluff, despite Mordant's best advice.

Rito then joins up with the growing ranks of Lord Zedd (or "Edd" as he calls him), surprised to see Scorpina also among them. Once again, Mordant is stuck tagging along with his client, against his better judgement.

[overlyattachedto70s-sitcoms]

watched auto focus last night. why. did i do that to myself.

[frogplayingguitar]

“ion know n ion give a fuck imma let be what is”

[rosetta-j-stone]

Gonna tell the next generation this was Del Boy and Rodney in Only Fools and Horses

facebook, 2021

[fyodors--ushanka]

Simon riley x reader

Warnings: mating/breeding kink (??), choking, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap the willy, don't be silly.)

Synopsis: you make a joke but it doesn't go as planned.

Word count: 1086

You can't help but be utterly infatuated by the man you've come to love; Simon Ghost Riley. He's tough on the outside, often silent or cruel. And it's true.

Tall men have big dicks.

You made a joke about it.

“Hey Si, I heard about this rumor—tall men have big dicks. And you're tall—but sometimes I don't think it's true, at least with you.” It was just a short jab, harmless, right?

Right?

Not really.

He shoots a half-assed glare at you, that oh so familiar skull mask that typically covers his face nowhere to be seen. “You sure about that, doll?” He asks in that firm, cockney accent. Something about it sends your heart rate through the roof and makes heat pool between your legs. It was supposed to be a jab. A joke. Your throat dries, a fluttering feeling in your stomach. “I mean, you can find out. If you want to, of course.” You swallow, your heart feels like it's gonna explode, your breath quickening. You lick your lips, nodding meekly.

He stands, walking over to you. He nearly towers over you by a foot. He cups your face in his hands, slowly backing you up against the wall. Your legs nearly give out on you. “Words, doll. Yes, or no?” You suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.” You respond in a quiet tone. “Good.” Is all he responds with. His hand drifts down your body, his rough calluses brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. He leaves it there for a minute, squeezing just enough to restrict your airway slightly. You swallow, hands trembling slightly because it feels good. His other hand drifts down to your hips, squeezing slightly.

He rubs his hardening cock against your hip, just to say ‘look what you've done.’ The hand on your neck drifts down your thigh, coming up under your skirt. He rubs against the damp material of your panties, sending shock waves through your entire body. “Remember princess, you asked for this.” He withdraws his hands, resting them on your waist. He slowly guides you to your shared bedroom, the grey walls and black curtains a nostalgic sight. You take a moment to admire the fact that those pretty black silk sheets would be ruined.

Boneless and braindead, you allow him to set you down. He pushes you onto your back, crawling up the bed, hands placed on both sides of your head. His legs are between yours and yours wrap around his waist. He places a rough kiss onto your lips, filled with tongue, teeth clashing against each other. His cock rubs against your cunt, the friction sending delicious pleasure through your body. “That joke earlier—you wanted this, didn't you?” He asks through clenched teeth and ragged breaths.

He sits back on his knees, unzipping his pants and pulling his dick out. Your eyes widen—it's so big. You swear it's got to be 9 inches. It's thick and uncut. He moves your panties to the side, rubbing his tip through your slick. “Mh, fuck, Doll…you're gonna be so tight.” He mumbles. He begins to push in slowly, the mushroom tip stretching you near painfully. How is this man not a pornstar?

His touch is like fire dancing across your skin, a bruising force on your hips as he slowly bottoms out. He bites his lip to suppress a deep, guttural moan, eyes rolled back. Your cunt clenches and spasms at the intrusion, a choked moan escaping as your mind switches between breathing and not breathing. A shiver runs throughout your body at the pleasure coursing through your veins, red, hot damn lust clouding your mind, your judgement. How had it escalated so quickly?

He pulls his hips out, tip catching on your spasming and clenching walls. “Shh..easy baby.” He mumbles, rubbing your hip gently. “Remember, you asked for this. That joke was out of line. You deserve this.” His voice is like a grounding element in this intimate moment. He exhales a breath, pulling out so only his tip remains. He thrusts; hard and deep, hip bones meeting the plush of your ass.

His tip nudges your cervix, making a sweet, near pornographic moan leave your plump, pink lips. “Fuck—Si—baby—” you choke out, bearings lost in the haze of lust and greed. A joke. A joke caused this.

A hand that rested on your hip drifts up your body, wrapping around your throat, constricting your airway. “Mh..fuck—you're so tight—shouldn't have made that joke, doll.” He says between short grunts and deep thrusts. It's all too much and too little at the same time. The hand on your throat keeps you in place as his rough thrusts and assault on your cunt pushes you forwards. His balls slap against your ass, wet skin-on-skin sounding out across the room, the smell of sex filling the air. Your moans escape in between gasps and breaths, only egging him on further.

You've never been driven To the point of near orgasm so quickly before. His hand on your throat moves down to your stomach, where a faint bulge appears as he thrusts. He presses his hand down onto it, groaning lowly at the feeling. “Want me to fill you? Make you swell nice and round with my baby?” He asks as his hips falter, thrusts irregular. He won't lie, seeing you nice and plump, tit's swollen with milk, seems like a sexy sight. And, you've been talking about wanting a child recently. “Yes—goddamnit—” You gasp out between sharp breaths, back arching, toes curling. Your cunt spasms, the tight knot in your stomach unraveling to spread across your whole body. Your legs shake, thighs trying to clamp shut and hold Simon as close to you as you can. “fuuckkkkk..” He groans out, hips meeting your ass once again as his thick, hot seed pumps into you. The tight pulsing of your cunt sends him over the edge.

He pulls out, his cum coming along with him. His thick fingers scoops some up, shoving it back into your convulsing Cunt. Your legs tremble. The Stimulation is too much and you swear you black out for a second, because after you open your eyes from being screwed shut tightly, he's pushing your hair out of your face, fingers still plunged deep in your sopping cunt. “Ever gonna make a joke like that again, doll?” He asks. And you wanna say yes, but you shake your head.

Definitely making a joke like that again, you think to yourself.

[anqueerism]

I think it's about time that we put away the "chewsday" and "bo'ol o' wa'ah" jokes.

It's frankly quite an overused and tired joke, but not only that, it's incredibly classist.

In the UK, accents are and always have been very heavily entwined with the country's class system. There is an extremely long and storied history of certain accents (such as the popularly-mocked cockney) being brutally ridiculed, suppressed in the public sector, and even banned from media and broadcasting while others like RP were promoted and even required.

This has lessened over time, but it still holds pretty true: Your accent is one of the main indicators of your class and your breeding, and will directly impact the way that people treat you.

These are historically marginalised and oppressed accents in the UK, so when you mock them— especially as someone who does not live in the UK— you are, in fact, directly mocking those people to whom the accent belongs.

Personally, I have a very sensitive history surrounding my accent. I was born into a working-class family, but my father was a social climber and intensely embarrassed about his own status. Because of this, he had an intense fixation with ensuring that I fit every classist mould of an upper-class child. I was heavily abused by my teachers as a child into speaking in a Received Pronunciation accent (which they regarded as the "proper" way to speak), and was physically beaten into learning to write in an "educated style."

It took me until I was about sixteen or seventeen to even begin feeling comfortable to speak in my natural accent in the comfort of my own home. When in groups or in front of crowds, I still revert to a softer RP accent. I still have chronic pain in my hands from the beatings I received, and I still refuse to write on paper because it causes PTSD flashbacks.

All this to say: As an American, or generally anyone from outside of the UK, you do not have the right to mock historically marginalised British accents. It is not funny. You are pressing on a bruise that is not yours to press on, and then mocking people when they tell you that you pressing on that bruise hurts.

If you want to mock an English accent, mock RP. Traditional, Broadcasting, Aristocratic, or Modern. Those are historically upper-class accents, which (for most people) have no heavy history attached to them. I would say it's fair game.

But when you mock the accents of the poor working class who have been unequivocally brutalised in this country for centuries and then go on to mock us when we try to tell you why we don't like you doing it, you just sound like a complete and utter asshole.

[playerkingsley]

laughing at how committed sam came RIGHT out the gate with cockney nott, only to eventually swap relative accent strength with caleb as the campaign progressed

[justsomerandomfanfic]

An Amazing First Kiss - Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Title: An Amazing First Kiss

Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend (Mentioned)

WC: 1,651

Warnings: Try at writing a Cockney accent, Reader's nervous, italics, Reader's nervous about first kiss, Hobie is the best boyfriend, hurt/comfort idk?, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, mini angst, very brief mentions of lying, and fluff

To cut right to the chase, you were dating the amazing, and super lovable, Hobie Brown. You met him when he was performing with his band at some pub with your friend, and you just couldn't look away from him. His charisma, how easily he seemed to draw people to him, his passion for music, and just the way he’d spot you in the crowd. It made you feel as if no one else existed in the world, except you and him.

His dark brown eyes - even though they were covered by his Spider-Punk mask - had found yours in the crowd. He, too, was unable to look away. The way you softly danced in spot, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Your friend's arm linked with yours, your friends jumping up and down with more enthusiasm, but you drew him in; entranced him. It wasn't long until the two of you started seeing each other, going out for dates and whatnot. And it wasn’t long until the both of you started dating, and he revealed his secret identity to you.

Everything was perfect, except that you were very nervous. You were worried that Hobie might want to kiss you soon. And it's not that you don't want to kiss him. You did… You really did. And you would, eventually. But, at the moment, you just weren't ready. But it seemed that Hobie was. Only last week, he tried ‘the lean in’. But you were quick to come up with some sort of excuse. But, it was coming to a point where you hated lying to him and not talking to him about it. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing something wrong or that you weren’t interested or attracted to him.

The first time he tried to lean in, you had been sitting on the couch together, in his loft, watching a movie. Well, you weren't really paying much attention to it, and neither was Hobie.

"'is movie's bit boring, innit?" He muttered, his arm resting over your shoulders, his fingers randomly drumming along your forearm to an irregular beat. 

"Not the best movie I've seen, no," You agreed, glancing at him, "But it's entertaining to a degree."

Looking down at you, he continued, "'is guy a bit of a git 'ough." Hobie randomly gestured towards the screen where the main character was fighting with his brother.

“I agree…” Looking up at him, your words began to trail off when you noticed how close your faces were to one another. Looking into his beautiful brown eyes, you felt your stomach flip flop. However, you began to inwardly panic as he began to lean in. Red, flashing lights blared inside your mind as you froze and jumped out of his arms and off the couch. Letting out an awkward chuckle, you gestured down at your watch. "I have to go... Uh... Feed my cat." You stumbled over your words, making your way to the front door. Opening the door, you turned to give him a nervous grin, "I'll see you tomorrow, love you!"

“Love you…” As the door shut, Hobie let out a deep sigh, falling back upon the couch. Raising his legs up, he propped his feet on the coffee table. Why did you leave like that? And when did you get a cat?

~~~

A couple of weeks later, you were back in Hobie's loft, baking cookies. You hummed along to the song that Hobie was playing on his guitar in the other room, your thoughts drifting elsewhere as you worked. You didn't know how much time passed, or when Hobie stopped practicing, but as his arms wrapped around your waist, you couldn't help but smile. 

"Wha’ are you makin' 'is time?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of your head as you pressed the heart-shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

"I think you know what I'm making, Hobie." You sputtered out a small laugh, "It's quite obvious." 

He let out a small chuckle, before asking, "Well, 'ow many are you makin’ 'en?" 

"About ten, I think? I won't know until I cut them all out." You patted his hand on your stomach briefly, “And you’re not eating them all like last time.”

Hobie hummed as he pulled away from you, his fingers brushing your waist as he did so, causing a shiver to run down your spine; heading to the stove, he grabbed the kettle, "You want some rosy?" He asked, setting the kettle on the burner, and turning it on. 

Glancing over at him, he was already looking at you, leaning against the counter beside the stove, arms crossed. His gaze was warm, and his grin was - as always - breathtaking. You returned his smile, "Sure, thanks. That would be nice. Do we still have Earl Grey?" You asked before going back to the cookies as Hobie went to fetch the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself.

“‘Ave no scooby-doo.” He answered, before searching around in the cupboards, pushing other boxes of tea around until he spotted the Earl Grey, grabbing the tea box.

Reaching over your shoulder, his chest pressed into your side, Hobie grabbed the sugar from the counter near you. Looking up at him, you were surprised to see him still looking at you. There was that look again, the one that made your insides just turn into mush. But, as if in slow motion, he began to lean in. Quickly, you turned to look back down at the cookies, his lips pressing a kiss into your warm cheek; the coolness of his lip ring sending goosebumps over your skin.

Hobie pulled back, titling his head at you, his eyebrows narrowing as you slid the cookies into the oven; pursing his lips. Hobie was beginning to really wonder now. You seemed reluctant to kiss him, which made Hobie wonder if he had done something wrong. Did he do something? Say something? Did you just not want to kiss him? Hobie snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the screeching kettle.

Now, Hobie wasn't one to keep quiet about things bothering him. After pouring both him and you a cup of tea, he joined you on his couch. Setting both the cups on the coffee table, Hobie turned himself in his seat to face you, his arm resting on the back of the couch.

"Let's cut to 'e chase, yeah? 'Ave I done some'nin wrong?" He asked you, a slightly concerned expression crossing his features. 

Your shoulders slumped and a small, sad smile formed on your face as you looked down. "No. You haven't done anything wrong, H." You looked over at him, your sad smile turning into a frown upon meeting his eyes, "I... Uh, I don't think I'm ready to kiss yet." You knew Hobie wouldn’t break up with you because of this, but it was an irrational fear that your brain liked to tease you with.

Hobie, though, tilted his head, looking confused at this response. Noticing your frown, the unleashed tears in your eyes. Hobie moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You melted into his embrace, relaxing in his grasp as you let out a sigh of relief. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. "I 'ough' you just didn't want to kiss me, or some'nin' like 'at." 

You shook your head at his words, nuzzling your face into his chest, "No, I... I just don't think I'm ready to kiss anyone right now... I think sometime in the future I will be ready, I don't want you to think that I just won't kiss you ever."

At this, Hobie chuckled, lightly squeezing your shoulder. "Ya silly, luv." He teased, "You should know 'at it's fine. We ain't rushin' into anythin'. You’re stuck with me. I’m not gonna jus’ up and leave ‘cause you ain’t ready to kiss me."

Nodding your head, you gently pulled yourself out of his embrace, looking up at him. "Thank you, Hobie."

"Anytime, luv." He said, moving to lie down on the couch, opening his arms to you. You gladly climbed on top of him, laying your head on his chest; cuddling with Hobie always felt like home. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm under your ear, a comforting sound that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant. 

Leaning up on your arms, you looked down at him, "You're amazing, you know that, right?" Grinning, he reached up and ruffled your hair, causing you to scrunch up your nose. "Oi, don't mess up my beautiful locks," You laughed, jokingly swatting his hand away.

"An' I'm always amazin’. ‘Ough’ you knew ‘at ‘bout me already." He said with a wink, causing you to giggle. 

Staring down at him, you silently admired him. His dark complexion, chocolate brown eyes, high cheekbones, the piercings on his eyebrow and lip. Suddenly, you had an idea. "Hobie, honey, I’ve got an idea." You stated, grinning.

The tall boy sat up with you, a slight tilt of his head and an intrigued look on his face, "What's 'at?" Shifting on his lap, you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, his cheeks soft under your gentle touch. Giving him a small smile, you leaned forward. You shut your eyes before the tip of your nose bumped into his. Softly, you shook your head, giggling, your nose rubbing against his in an nose kiss. As you opened your eyes again, you saw Hobie staring back at you, his eyes half-lidded. A smirk played across his features, "Wow, luv." He whispered.

"Pretty amazing first kiss, eh?" You joked, your hands dropping from his cheeks, and reaching for his hands; interlacing your fingers with his.

"Oh, very amazin’ indeed." He said, bringing your hands to his lips, and kissing each knuckle. “Maybe even more amazin’ ‘an me.”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Do you ever think about poor Nik, having learned English from textbooks and maybe some American media here and there and all that, suddenly being faced with Brits / specifically John Price, pronouncing things somewhat differeng and having all those British terms that Nik has never heard of. Why the fuck are Brits putting blankets on pigs and why is John asking him whether he's ever had that!!

The man knows eight (8) languages, so it's likely it's not even his second language, but his fourth or fifth. Mad intelligent, but yeah, you're so right.

I work with a few foreign nationals who have told me that, sometimes, speaking to me is like hearing English through a carnival mirror; the words are familiar, but what the hell do they mean in that order? It's usually when my brain has switched to Jack Mode out of professional mode, and I am absolutely not paying any attention.

I can imagine Price does the same. Same way that Johnny tones down his accent, I headcanon that Price toned down his Liverpudlian twang, but sometimes he'll absolutely slip up, and Nik'll hear him use "devoed", "clobber" and other weird phrases that he's pretty sure contain words that aren't in the Bible.

There's only one person who can understand Price when he goes Full Liverpool: Ghost, who goes Full Mancunian in response, and Nik's sitting there while they're...

P: Gonna jib this off, and go fer bevvy and scran on me bill, unless yer down, la?

G: Gaggin' fer a pint, but can't, 'm brassic, got reports to finish and that. Can I cadge a ciggy?

P: Naw, I've only got abar four bifters left, like.

G: Ah, yer dead snide, sir.

Nik, looking at Gaz for help, who is just smiling like the Cheshire Cat because he's packing cockney rhyming slang up his sleeve, so Nik better buckle the fuck up.

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[lildoodlenoodle]

Some random Hobie information from the comics! I’ve specified where the movies might come in and fanon stuff!

Hobie, despite having a British/cockney accent in the movie and in the comics, lives in NYC in the comics(movie might b different).

Hobie is a homeless teen(I’m pretty sure his parents died) radicalized by his dystopian world.

He’s been Spiderman for 3 years(movie so most of his comics have probably passed) and his world is a weird combination of 1970s-1990s.

Canonically bad at naming things.

His friends/band are tired of his shit and regularly make fun of him for saving the multiverse.

The cops in Hobie’s world all have the venom symbiote, he uses his guitar to play frequencies that disrupt the symbiotes.

He kills Norman Osborn twice.

Yes he kills cops.

Full name is Hobart.

Originally he hated being called Spider-Punk.

He works with his worlds Daredevil(Mattea Murdock), Captain America(Captain Anarchy), Hulk(Robbie Banner), Ironheart(RiotHeart), Ms. Marvel, etc.

Most people in his ‘band’ can’t actually play lol.

With facism one of his other greatest enemies is capitalism and being ‘marketable’.

Hobie’s design was originally meant to be Spider UK, who later became Billy Braddock.

He also got a symbiote dog called Spider-Mutt in his latest run.

Gwen Stacy was a famous rockstar who died in his world, Hobie was a fan!

He was originally recruited to what I affectionately call the ‘Interdimensional Spider Death Squad’ run by the Superior Spider with Spider Noir (and eventually Miles and Jessica joined right before the teams merged)rather than the other group of spiders.

He was the one that brought Miles back into the ‘spider society’ when the inheritors came back.

In the comics he lives in a Welfare center in Brooklyn he and his friends/band operate, in the movie he lives in a boat!

Hobie has an interdimensional band with Gwen(drums), Pavitr(keyboard), Noir(bass), Anya(1616 vocals), and Ham(air guitar)

I can’t remember Hobie having any romantic interests in his universe, but fanon wise he is often shipped with his canon gay friend, Captain Anarchy aka Karl Morningdew, but Karl does have a canon boyfriend. But outside of his universe there’s a whole host of possible ships and some do include: Hobiemiles / punkflower hobiepav/chaipunk hobiegwen / ghostpunk

[inscribedlighter]

Okay but when Kayne freezes time to reveal John's deal with him Larson, the Butcher and Noel are just in the background watching.

Like, imagine you are the Butcher who has the bare minimum of context on all of this and suddenly you're frozen, and everyone else is frozen, and a guy just appears beside Arthur and starts monologuing.

Like here is what he just experiences frozen and unable to move:

KAYNE (loudly): So close! 

KAYNE (innocently): John?

KAYNE: And? And!? (Unimpressed.) And what.

KAYNE: Stopped everything? Why, yes.

KAYNE: How!? (He walks as he talks.) How am I supposed to explain that to you? God, you sound just like your little host family here, questioning everything! Some things just happen, Marigold.

KAYNE: Deal? What deal?

KAYNE: Oh, I don’t recall a contract or written word, really.

KAYNE (dangerously): You’ll what? 

 KAYNE: Oh! You know what? I do remember! (Recollecting.) Oh, oh, oh. We did make a deal, didn’t we? First, you were sent back into the King. Right? (Theatrically.) Whole once again! 

KAYNE: It was right after our little crumpet tried to shave his neck with the pointy end. Right? Then… hm. (He sucks air through his teeth.) Then what happened? You don’t remember, do you? 

KAYNE: Yes! You were… well, you were cast out, weren’t you? The King just – well, couldn’t make you fit anymore, could he? (Vigorously.) Too much soul in there! A broken mirror in too many pieces to put together again. (He pretends to cry.) 

KAYNE: Oh, of course! You were changed! A new… man? Entity? Thing? What are we calling you, exactly? (A short pause. Coyly.) Dandelions are yellow!

KAYNE: And so he cast you out! While in his realm, the King still had considerable power over you. Whatever you are. And sent you back to the one place you dared not ever return! (Cruelly.) Isn’t… that… right? 

KAYNE (dramatically): The Dark World! It was scary there, wasn’t it? 

 KAYNE: I mean, scary doesn’t even begin to sell it, but Arty promised he’d never send you back there, didn’t he?

KAYNE (faux aghast): And yet, your little deal had you end up right where he promised you’d never be!? Oh, how infuriating that must’ve been! (He laughs maniacally.) Oh. You would’ve done anything to get out again. Wouldn’t you? But first! You had to sink a little lower. Didn’t you? 

Time moves differently in the Dark World, doesn’t it? You didn’t just give up. You… You fell back on your old ways. The King who was trapped there before all of this… it was only when you were truly defeated that you called to me. (Abruptly.) Begged for me! The things you did for me to make this deal… (Shudderingly.) Ooh! 

KAYNE: But you got out. How did it feel, lying to Arthur this whole time? Not being able to tell him why you were coming here and … where you came from.

KAYNE: Not true! (Insolently.) Matthew had a choice! 

KAYNE: Absolutely! That little rapscallion let it slip, didn’t he? I told him to keep a tight, heavy lid… if Arthur knew that I wanted him here, he wouldn’t do it! But… could he keep that to himself? Hardly!

KAYNE (snidely): Well, because he made his choice.

KAYNE: His to make! And you made yours, my King. And you… (Pleased.) Mm! Fulfilled our deal. In a manner of speaking.

 KAYNE: And? And you were released from the Dark World! (Dramatically.) Contract fulfilled! (A conjuring effect, the rustle of paper, and pencil scratching.) See? 

KAYNE: So now… you and Arthur can leave! (Bad cockney accent.) England, was it? (Normally.) No more secrets between the two of you.

KAYNE: I mean… I said I stopped them from moving, Johnny, but his ears still work. 

KAYNE: Am I wrong, Archie? (He snaps his fingers.)

ARTHUR (in horror): You…

Butcher: ...

[cs-fox]

SORRY FOR GOING MIA IM TRYING TO GET OVER MY WRITER'S BLOCK...........................................enjoy please I promise I will try to write more for you all x

part 1 > part 2 > part 3

@immapeppers @ihe4rtme @blinca

Married at First Sight to Simon Riley! PART III

The contest was almost over. Every evening after the shared meals, shit-talk and dramatic exits, you’d sit on your bed with Simon and chat, picking at the various platters left in your small living space. It was peaceful. Domestic, even.

The man understood you. 

You were comfortable. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think your sister was right about all of this. Maybe reality TV wasn’t all bullshit, after all, maybe this wasn’t a waste of time.

And, certainly - on the first night you spent together away from the cameras - well, good sex wasn’t the first thing you looked for in a relationship, but Simon? He knew how to treat a lady.

The next morning, he was called into work. He hadn’t hidden the fact that he was in active service, often bringing up his teammates in your late-night conversations, so this didn’t surprise you at all. What did surprise you, though, was his following line:

��C’mon, lovie, get dressed up nice. My team wants to meet you.’

And that’s how you found yourself in the barracks just out of town, wearing a maxi dress you’d had to steal from your sister (meaning it was a touch too small) and standing quite awkwardly at Simon’s side, your hand tucked safely in his, the cool metal of his wedding band soothing you slightly.

‘She’s pretty, ain’t she, Lieutenant?’ an incredibly Cockney accent asked - it belonged to a young man with amber eyes and warm, dark skin. Simon nodded proudly.

‘Told ye so,’ the man you recognised from your wedding, still with that cocky grin and dark mohawk, spoke up. ‘Hate ta say ah was right, LT…’

Simon grunted, pulling you closer to him and resting one hand on your waist protectively. 

‘Ohh, he’s possessive,’ the Scotsman’s grin was so infectious, you had to suppress a smile. ‘Best watch out, lassie, he’s nae letting you go anywhere…’

You smiled to yourself. Just the way you liked it.

[dreamsteddie]

If Steve were an omega he would definitely be all about being bred. I wouldn't dream of trying to deny that, but I think if Eddie were the omega he would make a big joke of it every single time.

He fully wants to start a family with Steve, maybe not six entire pups because he would like to retain at least some control of his bladder as he ages, but at least a couple of pups would be ideal. They go to all the doctors and take all the right supplements and track their cycles for the best results once they are in a stable place outside of Hawkins.

But every time they have sexy times with making babies specifically in mind, Eddie is struck by how silly the whole thing feels and Can Not resist making a joke about it.

it's all "Ah yes, it is time for the sacred rituals." and " You better show me what you got big boy! This womb won't fill itself!" with a bad cockney accent.

It's certainly not enough for either of them to stop the sexy times, but it definitely isn't the frantic, kinky breeding sex that would happen if Steve was the one with the womb, and I love that for them.

-------

For March Mating Madness Day Two: Breeding

@stmarchmm

[hollowed-theory-hall]

why is it considered canon that tom is from the east end? It’s hardly the only working class neighbourhood in london and unless I’m mistaken the one piece of textual evidence we have for where he grew up is the diary, which was procured in lambeth. Given that londoners pretty much don’t cross the river going south unless they live there, doesn’t it make more sense for him to be from vauxhall or bermondsey or elephant and castle? (I might just be biased by the idea of bb tom riddle running around doing odd jobs for alice diamond and her gangster friends lol)

I think it's mostly due to East End being more notorious and known globally. At least that would be my guess on why that's the assumption. I actually, too, always assumed Wool's was in the East End, but I wanted to check what we actually know of Wool's location.

Also, as we don't really know how Tom got the diary, he didn't necessarily live in the area the diary came from. So I don't consider it hard evidence either way.

What we do have, is JKR's tendency to write accents and whatever descriptions we are given of Wool's.

Honestly, the orphanage is really odd, since regardless of where in London it was, Tom would not have a room just for himself there, but I digress. What we are told about its location doesn't give us much besides, a little barren, rundown, and looking pretty grim in a bustling street (which fits a lot of places in London, so, unhelpful).

So, we'll look at Tom's accent in his first meeting with Dumbledore:

“You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

(HBP) - That's the passage with the most "accent" I could find from him.

This suggests a working class accent to me (not a Brit myself, so I'm working off internet research here). Both for the slang used and the general informality of it, and the words used, but I didn't find something that would really suggest the accent is Cockney specifically (like dropping 'H's or the use of "ain't" or certain vowel shifts).

(Cockney accent is the one historically associated with the East End)

I looked at Mrs. Cole's dialogue as well (to cover my bases), as it's pretty similar to Tom's and they should be from the same area, and while it's definitely working class, I couldn't find strong indicators of Cockney either:

“I remember she said to me, ‘I hope he looks like his papa,’ and I won’t lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn’t it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy’s surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. “Well, we named him just as she’d said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he’s been here ever since.”

(HBP)

And there is a character that JKR wrote very obviously with a Cockney accent, and that's Stan Shunpike:

“ ’Choo lookin’ at?” said Stan. [...] “Woss that on your ’ead?” said Stan abruptly. [...] “Yep,” said Stan proudly, “anywhere you like, long’s it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater. ’Ere,” [...] “you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand ’and, dincha?”

(PoA)

The above experts have basically all the markers of a cockney accent. Shifting vowels, 'H's go missing, words like "'choo" and "dincha", replacing "th" with "ff", etc.

But he doesn't always speak this casually and he does speak more formally when giving Harry the initial introduction to the Knight Bus:

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve —”

(PoA)

So, it's possible Tom and Mrs. Cole are from the East End, but JKR didn't write them with clear Cockney accents like she wrote Stan. I mean, Mrs. Cole got quite drunk in her conversation with Dumbledore, if she had a Cockney accent I would have expected to see letters dropped and vowels shifted like in Stan's first dialogue expert.

So, yeah, Tom grew up in a working class area, but his accent doesn't seem to be Cockney, so you can place Wool's in various areas in London and it's up to your headcanon/iteraputation. Lambeth is actually a very possible location based on the accent and description of Wool's, but there are other possible locations, so, yeah.