#this is the british experience

[theyrealllesbians]

I need teenage dirtbag marauders.

I'm talking messy house parties where the goal is to get wasted, lose your voice and smoke an entire pack of cigs. I need them all to have a pair of disgusting going out shoes, sticky, muddy, just gross. I need them being able do shots of the cheapest vodka ever without flinching or grimacing by the age of 16. I need them tactically chundering. I need them turning up to school, looking absolutely terrible because they are that hungover. I need them doing spin the bottle and messily making out with each other, just for fun. I need James Potter dancing filthy, rolling his hips more than anything. I need Sirius always passing out on the stairs and Peter being the silly drunk of the group.

[acrowseye]

i'm conducting an experiment. everyone who's from an english speaking country state your country, regional area and what you call the following images. i need to see something

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[kirstythejetblackgoldfish]

[fiuworks]

The Lonely jail: primary school buddy bench

[antisocial-entomancer]

So I was rereading the Hobbit and I kept thinking how much of why the whole lot of them didn’t die like every five pages is sheer luck. And I thought it was super weird, but then I remembered how at the beginning the dwarves mostly wanted another person so they would have a group of 14 for a lucky number. Bilbo’s luck saves the whole quest constantly, and if the lucky number thing is actually why then it makes a lot more sense why they really wanted someone to make 14.

[petit-papillion]

Charles and Leo arriving at Silverstone | 2024 British GP Race Week

🎥 Scuderia Ferrari

[broken-clover]

Underrated aspect of Sword and Shield is how frequently it gave you the ability to be a snarky dumbass

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Its a well known fact that i think about American Cowboy Ninja Kinji Takigawa once a day. What is not as well known is that i think about Yakumo(‘s lawnmower) about twice that amount.

[boanerges20]

Glenn Irwin British Superbikes [BSB] Photo: Double Red BSB

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Be kind to hospitality/customer service roles, especially at this time of year.

It’s incredible how some people genuinely cannot have a conversation without being condescending/antagonistic.

[cuubism]

I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!

you are in luck. i wrote more

--

"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"

He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.

Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."

Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.

He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.

This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.

I

on

ly

want

ed

you

to

see.

God, Dream's shop is weird.

Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."

Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.

Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."

Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No matter. This is what The Library is for."

Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."

Ominous. Great.

"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.

"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.

It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.

"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."

Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."

And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.

--

Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.

But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.

And he knows how.

The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.

The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.

The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:

Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.

Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.

"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.

"You have something you want to answer?"

Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."

It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.

He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"

"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."

Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."

"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.

"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.

"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."

"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.

Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."

Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"

Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."

--

They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.

Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"

"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."

"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."

"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"

Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"

This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.

Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.

Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.

When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.

"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.

"Anything."

"Never take me here ever again."

Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"

This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."

"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."

He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.

[acrowseye]

part 2 of my experiment: what english-speaking country are you from, what region and what do you call the following images? if you don't know what the first image is please try to guess i'd love to see it

[artistmarchalius]

Cockney Rhyming Slang! ✨

I’ve seen a good amount of rhyming slang from Hobie in fics and I love to see it! I love language and slang; I find the origins and usage of words fascinating, so I thought I’d make a little post about it to offer up some knowledge, tips and suggestions that I hope will be helpful or interesting to both those currently incorporating it in fics, as well as to those who want to use it but might not know where to start. Or even to those who don’t write but want to know!

So here we go!

First, a very brief history!

Cockney rhyming slang originated from the East End of London in the early 19th century. It was originally used by Cockneys so they could speak in front of the police without being understood and was very handy if you had some dodgy dealings going on. It has since passed into common language and is no longer restricted to use by Cockneys.

So you can see why it would make sense for Hobie to know a lot of it if he’s running around rebelling against a corrupt government run by supervillains!

How does it work?

Cockney rhyming slang works by taking a word and using a rhyming phrase of about two to three words to replace it. For example: “Daisy roots” means “boots” and “Ones and twos” means “shoes”.

There can be multiple phrases used for the same word, for example: both “Trouble and strife” and “Duchess of Fife” mean “wife”.

A Cockney rhyming slang tip:

A little shortcut to make your Cockney rhyming slang more authentic to a day to day Brit is to only use the first word in the phrase. For example:

If I wanted to write “Use your head”, I could write “Use your loaf of bread” and that would be accurate, but it would be even more accurate to just say “Use your loaf”.

Another example:

“I haven’t got a clue”, which if you’ve seen Across the Spider-Verse, you would know is “I haven’t got a Scooby Doo”, is commonly shortened to “I haven’t got a Scooby”. This actually threw me off when I saw it in the cinema and I never knew why until I learned about the “first word rule” in an East End documentary the other night 😂

Other examples:

Bread and honey = money. “I don’t have enough bread for that.”

Rabbit and pork = talk. “He don’t half rabbit on”. Chas and Dave wrote a song called Rabbit, which is a bit casually rude towards women as many things from the 80’s can be, but it did give us the line “You’ve got more rabbit than Sainsbury’s“ which I find quite funny.

Butchers hook = look. “Let’s take a butchers at that”

Donkeys ears = years. “I haven’t seen you in donkeys!”

I believe that back in the day, only using the first word of the phrase was an added level of secrecy to keep the police from knowing what you were talking about since it took away the rhyming portion of the phrase which the police might have been able to guess the meaning of. Only those who knew the rest of the phrase would know what the other was talking about. It has since become a more common practice to the point where many people don’t even realise they’re doing it (as I did until recently).

However, it is still perfectly acceptable to use the full phrase. For example, I’ve called someone on the old “dog and bone” (phone) and I’ve heard the stairs be called “apples and pears” but not really just “apples”.

Other examples:

Donkeys ears = years. “I haven’t seen you in donkeys!” as mentioned above. It’s also commonly mistaken for Donkeys Years. “I haven’t seen you in donkeys years”. Although technically it isn’t the full phrase, I’d say this still counts.

Shortening and adaptations:

Over time, some of the phrases have been shortened and adapted to form new slang. For example:

Bottle and stopper = copper (police). I’ve seen a lot of use of bottle and stopper in fanfics and that’s perfectly acceptable. However, the phrase is more commonly shortened to “Bottle” or adapted to “Bluebottle” or “Mr Bluebottle” due to the colour of their uniforms. Also, “bluebottle mob” can be used to mean the police force.

Another example of shortened and adapted Cockney rhyming slang is:

“Pork pies” = lies. More commonly shortened to “Porkies”. E.g. “she’s telling porkies.”

Here are some other slang words that have their origins in Cockney pronunciation:

Wotcher - an informal greeting originating from the Cockney contraction of “what cheer” (basically meaning “hello” or “what’s up?”). E.g. “Wotcher.”

Bruv/Bruvver - brother. Used the same way one would say “bro”. Bruvver is a cockney pronunciation of “brother” which has been shorted to the more commonly used “bruv”. E.g. “Good to see ya, bruv!”

And there you go, some quick knowledge about Cockney rhyming slang! I don’t claim to be an expert on the topic, a true Cockney would know far more than I do, but I thought I’d throw my hat into the ring and share the knowledge I do have in the hopes that it will help or entertain someone.

I’ll make another post going into police specific slang terms since that seems to be something that is intrinsically tied to the Spiderman experience, as well as Hobie’s, even more so as an anarchist arachnid, fascist punching punk rebel.

I might also make another post about general British slang words. Let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in or if there’s a specific area that you’d like to know about!

[anonymocha]

Marsh Creation raid mission report

[spacedoutcowgirl]

how amelie’s coming out to felix went, probably

“i’m a lesbian!”

“that’s no shocker, mum. here i thought you found the body in uncle’s basement.”

“????????”